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		<title>Section IV: FAIRY STORIES—MODERN FANTASTIC TALES</title>
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		<section id="pgepubid00492">
			<div class="center"><span epub:type="pagebreak" title="169" id="Page_169">169</span></div>
			<h2>SECTION IV <span class="subhd">FAIRY STORIES—MODERN FANTASTIC TALES</span></h2>
			
			<section id="pgepubid00495" epub:type="bibliography">
				<div class="center"><span epub:type="pagebreak" title="170" id="Page_170">170</span></div>
				<h3>BIBLIOGRAPHY</h3>
				<ol>
					<li>Alden, Raymond Macdonald, <cite>Why the Chimes Rang, and Other
							Stories</cite>.</li>
					<li>Andersen, Hans Christian, <cite>Fairy Tales</cite>.</li>
					<li>Barrie, Sir James Matthew, <cite>The Little White Bird</cite>. [Peter
						Pan.]</li>
					<li>Baum, L. Frank, <cite>The Wizard of Oz</cite>.</li>
					<li>Benson, A. C., <cite>David Blaize and the Blue Door</cite>.</li>
					<li>Beston, H. B., <cite>The Firelight Fairy Book</cite>.</li>
					<li>Brown, Abbie Farwell, <cite>The Lonesomest Doll</cite>.</li>
					<li>Browne, Frances, <cite>Granny's Wonderful Chair</cite>.</li>
					<li>Carryl, Charles E., <cite>Davy and the Goblin</cite>.</li>
					<li>"Carroll, Lewis," <cite>Alice's Adventures in Wonderland</cite>.</li>
					<li>"Carroll, Lewis," <cite>Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found
							There</cite>.</li>
					<li>Chamisso, Adelbert von, <cite>The Wonderful History of Peter
							Schlemihl</cite>.</li>
					<li>"Collodi, C.," <cite>The Adventures of Pinocchio</cite>.</li>
					<li>Cox, Palmer, <cite>The Brownies: Their Book</cite>.</li>
					<li>Craik, Dinah Mulock, <cite>Adventures of a Brownie</cite>.</li>
					<li>Craik, Dinah Mulock, <cite>The Little Lame Prince and His
							Traveling-Cloak</cite>.</li>
					<li>Crothers, Samuel McChord, <cite>Miss Muffet's Christmas Party</cite>.</li>
					<li>Dickens, Charles, <cite>A Christmas Carol</cite>.</li>
					<li>Ewald, Carl, <cite>Two-Legs, and Other Stories</cite>.</li>
					<li>Grahame, Kenneth, <cite>The Wind in the Willows</cite>.</li>
					<li>Harris, Joel Chandler, <cite>Nights with Uncle Remus</cite>.</li>
					<li>Hawthorne, Nathaniel, "The Snow Image," "Little Daffydowndilly," "A Rill
						from the Town Pump."</li>
					<li>Ingelow, Jean, <cite>Mopsa the Fairy</cite>.</li>
					<li>Ingelow, Jean, <cite>Stories Told to a Child</cite>. 2 vols.</li>
					<li>Jordan, David Starr, <cite>The Book of Knight and Barbara</cite>.</li>
					<li>Lagerlof, Selma, <cite>The Wonderful Adventures of Nils</cite>.</li>
					<li>La Motte-Fouqué, F. de, <cite>Undine</cite>.</li>
					<li>Lang, Andrew, <cite>Prince Prigio</cite>.</li>
					<li>Kingsley, Charles, <cite>The Water Babies</cite>.</li>
					<li>Maeterlinck, Maurice, <cite>The Blue Bird</cite>.</li>
					<li>Macdonald, George, <cite>The Princess and the Goblin</cite>.</li>
					<li>Macdonald, George, <cite>At the Back of the North Wind</cite>.</li>
					<li>Pyle, Katherine, <cite>In the Green Forest</cite>.</li>
					<li>Raspe, Rudolph Erich, <cite>Baron Munchausen's Narrative</cite>.</li>
					<li>Richards, Laura E., <cite>The Story of Toto</cite>.</li>
					<li>Richards, Laura E., <cite>The Pig Brother</cite>.</li>
					<li>Ruskin, John, <cite>The King of the Golden River</cite>.</li>
					<li>Stockton, Frank R., <cite>Fanciful Tales</cite>.</li>
					<li>Swift, Jonathan, <cite>Gulliver's Travels</cite>.</li>
					<li>Thackeray, William Makepeace, <cite>The Rose and the Ring</cite>.</li>
					<li>Wilde, Oscar, <cite>The Happy Prince, and Other Stories</cite>.</li>
					<li>Wilkins, Mary E., <cite>The Pot of Gold</cite>.</li>
				</ol>
			</section>
			
			<section id="pgepubid00498">
				<div class="center"><span epub:type="pagebreak" title="171" id="Page_171">171</span></div>
				<h3>INTRODUCTORY</h3>
				
				<p>The difficulties of classification are very apparent here, and once more it must
					be noted that illustrative and practical purposes rather than logical ones are
					served by the arrangement adopted. The modern fanciful story is here placed next
					to the real folk story instead of after all the groups of folk products. The
					Hebrew stories at the beginning belong quite as well, perhaps even better, in
					Section V, while the stories at the end of Section VI shade off into the more
					modern types of short tales. Then the fact that other groups of modern stories
					are to follow later, illustrating more realistic studies of life and the very
					recent and remarkably numerous writings centering around animal life, limits the
					list here. Many of the animal stories might, with equal propriety, be placed
					under the head of the fantastic.</p>
				<p><span epub:type="bridgehead">The child's natural literature.</span> The world has lost certain secrets as the
					price of an advancing civilization. It is a commonplace of observation that no
					one can duplicate the success of Mother Goose, whether she be thought of as the
					maker of jingles or the teller of tales. The conditions of modern life preclude
					the generally naïve attitude that produced the folk rhymes, ballads, tales,
					proverbs, fables, and myths. The folk saw things simply and directly. The
					complex, analytic, questioning mind is not yet, either in or out of stories. The
					motives from which people act are to them plain and not mixed. Characters are
					good or bad. They feel no need of elaborately explaining their joys and sorrows.
					Such experiences come with the day's work. "To-morrow to fresh woods, and
					pastures new." The zest of life with them is emphatic. Their humor is fresh,
					unbounded, sincere; there is no trace of cynicism. In folk literature we do not
					feel the presence of a "writer" who is mightily concerned about maintaining his
					reputation for wisdom, originality, or style. Hence the freedom from any note of
					straining after effect, of artificiality. In the midst of a life limited to
					fundamental needs, their literature deals with fundamentals. On the whole, it
					was a literature for entertainment. A more learned upper class may have
					concerned itself then about "problems" and "purposes," as the whole world does
					now, but the literature of the folk had no such interests.</p>
				<p>Without discussing the limits of the culture-epoch theory of human development as
					a complete guide in education, it is clear that the young child passes through a
					period when his mind looks out upon the world in a manner analogous to that of
					the folk as expressed in their literature. Quarrel with the fact as we may, it
					still remains a fact that his nature craves these old stories and will not be
					satisfied with something "just as good."</p>
				<p><span epub:type="bridgehead">The modern fairy story.</span> The advance of civilization has been accompanied
					by a wistful longing for the simplicities left by the way. In some periods this
					interest in the past has been more marked than in others. When the machinery of
					life has weighed too heavily on the human spirit, men have turned for relief to
					a contemplation of the "good old times" and have preached crusades of a "return
					to nature." <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="172" id="Page_172">172</span> Many modern
					writers have tried to recapture some of the power of the folk tale by imitating
					its method. In many cases they have had a fair degree of success: in one case,
					that of Hans Christian Andersen, the success is admittedly very complete. As a
					rule, however, the sharpness of the sense of wonder has been blunted, and many
					imitators of the old fairy tale succeed in keeping only the shell. Another class
					of modern fantastic tale is that of the <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">pourquoi</span> story, which has the
					explanation of something as its object. Such tales grow out of the attempt to
					use the charm of old stories as a means of conveying instruction, somewhat after
					the method of those parents who covered up our bitter medicine with some of our
					favorite jam. Even "Little Red Riding Hood," as we saw, has been turned into a
					flower myth. So compelling is this pedagogical motive that so-called nature
					myths have been invented or made from existing stories in great numbers. The
					practical results please many teachers, but it may be questioned whether the
					gain is sufficient to compensate children for the distorting results upon
					masterpieces.</p>
				<p><span epub:type="bridgehead">Wide range of the modern fairy tale.</span> The bibliography will suggest
					something of the treasures in the field of the modern fanciful story. From the
					delightful nonsense of <cite>Alice in Wonderland</cite> and the "travelers' tales" of
						<cite>Baron Munchausen</cite> to the profound seriousness of <cite>The King of the
						Golden River</cite> and <cite>Why the Chimes Rang</cite> is a far cry. There are the
					rich fancies of Barrie and Maeterlinck, at the same time delicate as the
					promises of spring and brilliant as the fruitions of summer. One may be blown
					away to the land of Oz, he may lose his shadow with Peter Schlemihl, he may
					outdo the magic carpet with his Traveling-Cloak, he may visit the courts of
					kings with his Wonderful Chair; Miss Muffet will invite us to her Christmas
					party, Lemuel Gulliver will lead us to lands not marked in the school atlas; on
					every side is a world of wonder.</p>
				<p><span epub:type="bridgehead">Some qualities of these modern tales.</span> Every age produces after its own
					fashion, and we must expect to find the modern user of the fairy-story method
					expressing through it the qualities of his own outlook upon the world. Interest
					in the picturesque aspects of landscape will be emphasized, as in the early
					portions of "The Story of Fairyfoot" and, with especial magnificence of style,
					throughout <cite>The King of the Golden River</cite>. There will appear the saddened
					mood of the modern in the face of the human miseries that make happiness a
					mockery, as in "The Happy Prince." The destructive effects of the possessive
					instinct upon all that is finest in human nature is reflected in "The Prince's
					Dream." That the most valuable efforts are often those performed with least
					spectacular settings may be discerned in "The Knights of the Silver Shield,"
					while the lesson of kindly helpfulness is the burden of "Old Pipes and the
					Dryad." In many modern stories the reader is too much aware of the conscious
					efforts of style and structure. The thoughtful child will sometimes be too much
					distressed by the more somber modern story, and should not hear too many of the
					gloomy type.</p>
				<p><span epub:type="bridgehead">Andersen the consummate master.</span> Hans Christian Andersen is the
					acknowledged master of the modern story for children. What are the sources of
					his success? Genius is always unexplainable except in terms of itself, but some
					things are clear. To begin, he makes a mark—drives down a peg: "There came a
					soldier marching along <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="173" id="Page_173">173</span>
					the high road—<em>one, two! one, two!</em>" and you are off. No backing and
					filling, no jockeying for position, no elaborate setting of the stage. The
					story's the thing! Next, the language is the language of common oral speech,
					free and unrestrained. The rigid forms of the grammar are eschewed. There is no
					beating around the bush. Seeing through the eyes of the child, he uses the
					language that is natural to such sight: "Aha! there sat the dog with eyes as big
					as mill-wheels." In quick dramatic fashion the story unrolls before your vision:
					"So the soldier cut the witch's head off. There she lay!" No agonizing over the
					cruelty of it, the lack of sympathy. It is a joke after the child's own heart,
					and with a hearty laugh at this end to an impostor, the listener is on with the
					story. The logic is the logic of childhood: "And everyone could see she was a
					real princess, for she was so lovely." When Andersen deals with some of the
					deeper truths of existence, as in "The Nightingale" or "The Ugly Duckling," he
					still manages to throw it all into the form that is natural and convincing and
					simple to the child. He never mounts a pedestal and becomes a grown-up
					philosopher. Perhaps Andersen's secret lay in the fact that some fairy godmother
					invested him at birth with a power to see things so completely as a child sees
					them that he never questioned the dignity of the method. In few of his stories
					is there any evidence of a constraint due to a conscious attempt to write down
					to the understandings of children.</p>
			</section>
			
			<section id="pgepubid00501">
				<h3>SUGGESTIONS FOR READING</h3>
					<p>The most valuable discussion of the difficulties to be mastered in writing
						the literary fairy tale, and the story of the only very complete mastery yet
						made, will be found in the account of Hans Christian Andersen in <cite>Eminent
							Authors of the Nineteenth Century</cite>, by Georg Brandes. Now and then
						hints of importance on such stories and their value for children may be
						found in biographies of the more prominent writers represented in the
						section and mentioned in the bibliography, and in magazine articles and
						reviews. These latter may be located by use of the periodical indexes found
						in most libraries. For the proper attitude which the schools should have
						toward fiction and fanciful writing in general, nothing could be better than
						two lectures on "Children's Reading," in <cite>On the Art of Reading</cite>, by
						Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch.</p>
			</section>
			
			<section id="pgepubid00503">
				<div class="center"><span epub:type="pagebreak" title="174" id="Page_174">174</span></div>
				<h3>190</h3>
				
				<p class="intro">The rabbis of old were good story-tellers. They were essentially
					teachers and they understood that the best sermon is a story. "They were fond of
					the parable, the anecdote, the apt illustration, and their legends that have
					been transmitted to us, all aglow with the light and life of the Orient, possess
					perennial charm." It is possible to find in rabbinical sources a large number of
					brief stories that have the power of entertaining as well as of emphasizing some
					qualities of character that are important in all ages. The plan of this book
					does not include the wonderful stories of the Old Testament, which are easy of
					access to any teacher and may be used as experience directs. The Hebrew stories
					following correspond very nearly to the folk anecdote and are placed in this
					section because of their literary form.</p>
				<p class="intro">Dr. Abram S. Isaacs (1851—) is a professor in New York University
					and is also a rabbi. The selection that follows is from his <cite>Stories from the
						Rabbis</cite>. (Copyrighted. Used by special permission of The Bloch Publishing
					Company, New York.) Taking advantage of the popular superstition that a
					four-leaved clover is a sign of good luck, Dr. Isaacs has grouped together four
					parable-like stories, each of which deals with wealth as a subject. The editors
					are responsible for the special titles given. The messages of these stories
					might be summarized as follows: If you would be lucky, (1) be honest because it
					is right to be honest, (2) value good friends more highly than gold, (3) let
					love accompany each gift of charity, and (4) use common sense in your business
					ventures.</p>
				
				<section id="pgepubid00504">
					<h4>A FOUR-LEAVED CLOVER</h4>
					<div epub:type="z3998:author">ABRAM S. ISAACS</div>
					
					<section id="pgepubid99001">
						<h5>1. The Rabbi and The Diadem</h5>
						<p>Great was the alarm in the palace of Rome, which soon spread throughout the
							entire city. The Empress had lost her costly diadem, and it could not be
							found. They searched in every direction, but it was all in vain. Half
							distracted, for the mishap boded no good to her or her house, the Empress
							redoubled her exertions to regain her precious possession, but without
							result. As a last resource it was proclaimed in the public streets:</p>
						<p>"The Empress has lost a priceless diadem. Whoever restores it within thirty
							days shall receive a princely reward. But he who delays, and brings it after
							thirty days, shall lose his head."</p>
						<p>In those times all nationalities flocked toward Rome; all classes and creeds
							could be met in its stately halls and crowded thoroughfares. Among the rest
							was a rabbi, a learnèd sage from the East, who loved goodness and lived a
							righteous life, in the stir and turmoil of the Western world. It chanced one
							night as he was strolling up and down, in busy meditation, beneath the
							clear, moonlit sky, he saw the diadem sparkling at his feet. He seized it
							quickly, brought it to his dwelling, where he guarded it carefully until the
							thirty days had expired, when he resolved to return it to the owner.</p>
						<p>He proceeded to the palace, and, undismayed at sight of long lines of
							soldiery and officials, asked for an audience with the Empress.</p>
						<p>"What dost thou mean by this?" she inquired, when he told her his story and
							gave her the diadem. "Why didst thou delay until this hour? Dost thou know
							the penalty? Thy head must be forfeited."</p>
						<p>"I delayed until now," the rabbi answered calmly, "so that thou mightst know
							that I return thy diadem, not for the sake of the reward, still less out of
							fear of punishment; but solely to comply <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="175"
								id="Page_175">175</span> with the Divine command not to withhold from another
							the property which belongs to him."</p>
						<p>"Blessed be thy God!" the Empress answered, and dismissed the rabbi without
							further reproof; for had he not done right for right's sake?</p>
					</section>
					
					<section id="pgepubid99002">
						<h5>2. Friendship</h5>
						<p>A certain father was doubly blessed—he had reached a good old age, and had
							ten sons. One day he called them to his side, and after repeated expressions
							of affection, told them that he had acquired a fortune by industry and
							economy, and would give them one hundred gold pieces each before his death,
							so that they might begin business for themselves, and not be obliged to wait
							until he had passed away. It happened, however, that, soon after, he lost a
							portion of his property, much to his regret, and had only nine hundred and
							fifty gold pieces left. So he gave one hundred to each of his nine sons.
							When his youngest son, whom he loved most of all, asked naturally what was
							to be his share, the father replied:</p>
						<p>"My son, I promised to give each of thy brothers one hundred gold pieces. I
							shall keep my word to them. I have fifty left. Thirty I shall reserve for my
							funeral expenses, and twenty will be thy portion. But understand this—I
							possess, in addition, ten friends, whom I give over to thee as compensation
							for the loss of the eighty gold pieces. Believe me, they are worth more than
							all the gold and silver."</p>
						<p>The youth tenderly embraced his parent, and assured him that he was content,
							such was his confidence and affection. In a few days the father died, and
							the nine sons took their money, and without a thought of their youngest
							brother and the small amount he had received, followed each his own fancy.
							But the youngest son, although his portion was the least, resolved to heed
							his father's words, and hold fast to the ten friends. When a short time had
							elapsed he prepared a simple feast, went to the ten friends of his father,
							and said to them: "My father, almost in his last words, asked me to keep
							you, his friends, in honor. Before I leave this place to seek my fortune
							elsewhere, will you not share with me a farewell meal, and aid me thus to
							comply with his dying request?"</p>
						<p>The ten friends, stirred by his earnestness and cordiality, accepted his
							invitation with pleasure, and enjoyed the repast, although they were used to
							richer fare. When the moment for parting arrived, however, one of them rose
							and spoke: "My friends, it seems to me that of all the sons of our dear
							friend that has gone, the youngest alone is mindful of his father's
							friendship for us, and reverences his memory. Let us, then, be true friends
							to him, for his own sake as well, and provide for him a generous sum, that
							he may begin business here, and not be forced to live among strangers."</p>
						<p>The proposal, so unexpected and yet so merited, was received with applause.
							The youth, proud of their friendship, soon became a prosperous merchant, who
							never forgot that faithful friends were more valuable than gold or silver,
							and left an honored name to his descendants.</p>
					</section>
					
					<section id="pgepubid99003">
						<h5>3. True Charity</h5>
						<p>There lived once a very wealthy man, who cared little for money, except as <span
							epub:type="pagebreak" title="176" id="Page_176">176</span> a means for helping
							others. He used to adopt a peculiar plan in his method of charitable relief.
							He had three boxes made for the three different classes of people whom he
							desired to assist. In one box he put gold pieces, which he distributed among
							artists and scholars, for he honored knowledge and learning as the highest
							possession. In the second box he placed silver pieces for widows and
							orphans, for whom his sympathies were readily awakened. In the third were
							copper coins for the general poor and beggars—no one was turned away from
							his dwelling without some gift, however small.</p>
						<p>That the man was beloved by all, need hardly be said. He rejoiced that he was
							enabled to do so much good, retained his modest bearing, and continued to
							regard his wealth as only an incentive to promote the happiness of mankind,
							without distinction of creed or nationality. Unhappily, his wife was just
							the opposite. She rarely gave food or raiment to the poor, and felt angry at
							her husband's liberality, which she considered shameless extravagance.</p>
						<p>The day came when in the pressure of various duties he had to leave his
							house, and could not return until the morrow. Unaware of his sudden
							departure, the poor knocked at the door as usual for his kind gifts; but
							when they found him absent, they were about to go away or remain in the
							street, being terrified at the thought of asking his wife for alms. Vexed at
							their conduct, she exclaimed impetuously: "I will give to the poor according
							to my husband's method."</p>
						<p>She seized the keys of the boxes, and first opened the box of gold. But how
							great was her terror when she gazed at its contents—frogs jumping here and
							there. Then she went to the silver box, and it was full of ants. With
							troubled heart, she opened the copper box, and it was crowded with creeping
							bugs. Loud then were her complaints, and bitter her tears, at the deception,
							and she kept her room until her husband returned.</p>
						<p>No sooner did the man enter the room, annoyed that so many poor people were
							kept waiting outside, than she asked him: "Why did you give me keys to boxes
							of frogs, ants, and bugs, instead of gold, silver, and copper? Was it right
							thus to deceive your wife, and disappoint the poor?"</p>
						<p>"Not so," rejoined her husband. "The mistake must be yours, not mine. I have
							given you the right keys. I do not know what you have done with them. Come,
							let me have them. I am guiltless of any deception." He took the keys,
							quickly opened the boxes, and found the coins as he had left them. "Ah, dear
							wife," said he, when she had regained her composure, "your heart, I fear,
							was not in the gift, when you wished to give to the poor. It is the feeling
							that prompts us to aid, not the mere money, which is the chief thing after
							all."</p>
						<p>And ever after, her heart was changed. Her gifts blessed the poor of the
							land, and aroused their love and reverence.</p>
					</section>
					
					<section id="pgepubid99004">
						<h5>4. An Eastern Garden</h5>
						<p>In an Eastern city a lovely garden flourished, whose beauty and luxuriance
							awakened much admiration. It was the owner's greatest pleasure to watch its
							growth, as leaf, flower, and tree seemed daily to unfold to brighter bloom.
							One morning, while taking his usual stroll through the well-kept paths, <span
								epub:type="pagebreak" title="177" id="Page_177">177</span> he was surprised to
							find that some blossoms were picked to pieces. The next day he noticed more
							signs of mischief, and rendered thus more observant he gave himself no rest
							until he had discovered the culprit. It was a little trembling bird, whom he
							managed to capture, and was about to kill in his anger, when it exclaimed:
							"Do not kill me, I beg you, kind sir. I am only a wee, tiny bird. My flesh
							is too little to satisfy you. I would not furnish one-hundredth of a meal to
							a man of your size. Let me free without any hesitation, and I shall teach
							you something that will be of much use to you and your friends."</p>
						<p>"I would dearly like to put an end to you," replied the man, "for you were
							rapidly putting an end to my garden. It is a good thing to rid the world of
							such annoyances. But as I am not revengeful, and am always glad to learn
							something useful, I shall set you free this time." And he opened his hand to
							give the bird more air.</p>
						<p>"Attention!" cried the bird. "Here are three rules which should guide you
							through life, and if you observe them you will find your path made easier:
							Do not cry over spilt milk; do not desire what is unattainable, and do not
							believe what is impossible."</p>
						<p>The man was satisfied with the advice, and let the bird escape; but it had
							scarcely regained its liberty, when, from a high tree opposite, it
							exclaimed:</p>
						<p>"What a silly man! The idea of letting me escape! If you only knew what you
							have lost! But it is too late now."</p>
						<p>"What have I lost?" the man asked, angrily.</p>
						<p>"Why, if you had killed me, as you intended, you would have found inside of
							me a huge pearl, as large as a goose's egg, and you would have been a
							wealthy man forever."</p>
						<p>"Dear little bird," the man said in his blandest tones; "sweet little bird, I
							will not harm you. Only come down to me, and I will treat you as if you were
							my own child, and give you fruit and flowers all day. I assure you of this
							most sacredly."</p>
						<p>But the bird shook its head sagely, and replied: "What a silly man, to forget
							so soon the advice which was given him in all seriousness. I told you not to
							cry over spilt milk, and here you are, worrying over what has happened. I
							urged you not to desire the unattainable, and now you wish to capture me
							again. And, finally, I asked you not to believe what is impossible, and you
							are rashly imagining that I have a huge pearl inside of me, when a goose's
							egg is larger than my whole body. You ought to learn your lessons better in
							the future, if you would become wise," added the bird, as with another twist
							of its head it flew away, and was lost in the distance.</p>
					</section>
				</section>
			</section>
			
			<section id="pgepubid00508">
				<h3>191</h3>
				<p class="intro">A classic collection of short stories from the ancient Hebrew
					sages is the little book, <cite>Hebrew Tales</cite>, published in London in 1826 by
					the noted Jewish scholar Hyman Hurwitz (1770-1844). A modern handy edition of
					this book (about sixty tales) is published as Vol. II of the Library of Jewish
					Classics. Of special interest is the fact that it contained three stories by the
					poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge, who had published them first in his periodical,
						<cite>The Friend</cite>. Coleridge was much interested in Hebrew literature, and
					especially fond of speaking in parables, as those who know "The Ancient Mariner"
					will readily recall. The <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="178" id="Page_178">178</span>
					following is one of the three stories referred to, and it had prefixed to it the
					significant text, "The Lord helpeth man and beast." (Psalm XXXVI, 6.)</p>
				
				<section id="pgepubid00510">
					<h4>THE LORD HELPETH MAN AND BEAST</h4>
					<div epub:type="z3998:author">SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE</div>
					
					<p>During his march to conquer the world, Alexander, the Macedonian, came to a
						people in Africa who dwelt in a remote and secluded corner, in peaceful
						huts, and knew neither war nor conqueror. They led him to the hut of their
						chief, who received him hospitably, and placed before him golden dates,
						golden figs, and bread of gold.</p>
					<p>"Do you eat gold in this country?" said Alexander.</p>
					<p>"I take it for granted," replied the chief, "that thou wert able to find
						eatable food in thine own country. For what reason, then, art thou come
						amongst us?"</p>
					<p>"Your gold has not tempted me hither," said Alexander, "but I would become
						acquainted with your manners and customs."</p>
					<p>"So be it," rejoined the other: "sojourn among us as long as it pleaseth
						thee."</p>
					<p>At the close of this conversation, two citizens entered, as into their court
						of justice. The plaintiff said, "I bought of this man a piece of land, and
						as I was making a deep drain through it, I found a treasure. This is not
						mine, for I only bargained for the land, and not for any treasure that might
						be concealed beneath it; and yet the former owner of the land will not
						receive it." The defendant answered, "I hope I have a conscience, as well as
						my fellow citizen. I sold him the land with all its contingent, as well as
						existing advantages, and consequently, the treasure inclusively."</p>
					<p>The chief, who was at the same time their supreme judge, recapitulated their
						words, in order that the parties might see whether or not he understood them
						aright. Then, after some reflection, said: "Thou hast a son, friend, I
						believe?"</p>
					<p>"Yes."</p>
					<p>"And thou," addressing the other, "a daughter?"</p>
					<p>"Yes."</p>
					<p>"Well, then, let thy son marry <em>thy</em> daughter, and bestow the treasure
						on the young couple for a marriage portion." Alexander seemed surprised and
						perplexed. "Think you my sentence unjust?" the chief asked him.</p>
					<p>"Oh, no!" replied Alexander; "but it astonishes me."</p>
					<p>"And how, then," rejoined the chief, "would the case have been decided in
						your country?"</p>
					<p>"To confess the truth," said Alexander, "we should have taken both parties
						into custody, and have seized the treasure for the king's use."</p>
					<p>"For the king's use!" exclaimed the chief; "does the sun shine on that
						country?"</p>
					<p>"Oh, yes!"</p>
					<p>"Does it rain there?"</p>
					<p>"Assuredly."</p>
					<p>"Wonderful! But are there tame animals in the country, that live on the grass
						and green herbs?"</p>
					<p>"Very many, and of many kinds."</p>
					<p>"Ay, that must, then, be the cause," said the chief: "for the sake of those
						innocent animals the All-gracious Being continues to let the sun shine, and
						the rain drop down on your country; since its inhabitants are unworthy of
						such blessings." <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="179" id="Page_179">179</span></p>
				</section>
			</section>
			
			<section id="pgepubid00512">
				<h3>192</h3>
				<p class="intro">By almost common consent Hans Christian Andersen (1805-1875), the
					Danish author, is the acknowledged master of all modern writers of fairy tales.
					He was born in poverty, the son of a poor shoemaker. With a naturally keen
					dramatic sense, his imagination was stirred by stories from the <cite>Arabian
						Nights</cite> and La Fontaine's <cite>Fables</cite>, by French and Spanish soldiers
					marching through his native city, and by listening to the wonderful folk tales
					of his country. On a toy stage and with toy actors, these vivid impressions took
					actual form. The world continued a dramatic spectacle to him throughout his
					existence. His consuming ambition was for the stage, but he had none of the
					personal graces so necessary for success. He was ungainly and awkward, like his
					"ugly duckling." But when at last he began to write, he had the power to
					transfer to the page the vivid dramas in his mind, and this power culminated in
					the creation of fairy stories for children which he began to publish in 1835. It
					is usual to say that Andersen, like Peter Pan, "never grew up," and it is
					certain that he never lost the power of seeing things as children see them. Like
					many great writers whose fame now rests on the suffrages of child readers,
					Andersen seems at first to have felt that the <cite>Tales</cite> were slight and
					beneath his dignity. They are not all of the same high quality. Occasionally one
					of them becomes "too sentimental and sickly sweet," but the best of them have a
					sturdiness that is thoroughly refreshing.</p>
				<p class="intro">The most acute analysis of the elements of Andersen's greatness
					as the ideal writer for children is that made by his fellow-countryman Georg
					Brandes in <cite>Eminent Authors of the Nineteenth Century</cite>. A briefer account
					on similar lines will be found in H. J. Boyesen's <cite>Scandinavian
					Literature</cite>. A still briefer account, eminently satisfactory for an
					introduction to Andersen, by Benjamin W. Wells, is in Warner's <cite>Library of the
						World's Best Literature</cite>. The interested student cannot, of course,
					afford to neglect Andersen's own <cite>The Story of My Life</cite>. Among the more
					elaborate biographies the <cite>Life of Hans Christian Andersen</cite> by R. Nisbet
					Bain is probably the best. The first translation of the <cite>Tales</cite> into
					English was made by Mary Howitt in 1846 and, as far as it goes, is still
					regarded as one of the finest. However, Andersen has been very fortunate in his
					many translators. The version by H. W. Dulcken has been published in many cheap
					forms and perhaps more widely read than any other. In addition to the stories in
					the following pages, some of those most suitable for use are "The Little Match
					Girl," "The Silver Shilling," "Five Peas in the Pod," "Hans Clodhopper," and
					"The Snow Queen." The latter is one of the longest and an undoubted
					masterpiece.</p>
				<p class="intro">The first two stories following are taken from Mrs. Henderson's
						<cite>Andersen's Best Fairy Tales</cite>. (Copyright. Rand McNally &amp; Co.) This
					little book contains thirteen stories in a very simple translation and also an
					excellent story of Andersen's life in a form most attractive to children. "The
					Princess and the Pea" is a story for the story's sake. The humor, perhaps
					slightly satirical, is based upon the notion so common in the old folk tales
					that royal personages are decidedly more delicate than the person of low degree.
					However, the tendency to think oneself of more consequence than another is not
					confined to any one class.</p>
				
				<section id="pgepubid00513">
					<h4>THE REAL PRINCESS</h4>
					<div epub:type="z3998:author">HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
						<br />(Version by Alice Corbin Henderson)</div>
					
					<p>There was once a Prince who wanted to marry a Princess. But it was only a
							<em>real</em> Princess that he wanted to marry.</p>
					<p>He traveled all over the world to find a real one. But, although there were <span
							epub:type="pagebreak" title="180" id="Page_180">180</span> plenty of
						princesses, whether they were <em>real</em> princesses he could never
						discover. There was always something that did not seem quite right about
						them.</p>
					<p>At last he had to come home again. But he was very sad, because he wanted to
						marry a <em>real</em> Princess.</p>
					<p>One night there was a terrible storm. It thundered and lightened and the rain
						poured down in torrents. In the middle of the storm there came a knocking,
						knocking, knocking at the castle gate. The kind old King himself went down
						to open the castle gate.</p>
					<p>It was a young Princess that stood outside the gate. The wind and the rain
						had almost blown her to pieces. Water streamed out of her hair and out of
						her clothes. Water ran in at the points of her shoes and out again at the
						heels. Yet she said that she was a <em>real</em> Princess.</p>
					<p>"Well, we will soon find out about that!" thought the Queen.</p>
					<p>She said nothing, but went into the bedroom, took off all the bedding, and
						put a small dried pea on the bottom of the bedstead. Then she piled twenty
						mattresses on top of the pea, and on top of these she put twenty feather
						beds. This was where the Princess had to sleep that night.</p>
					<p>In the morning they asked her how she had slept through the night.</p>
					<p>"Oh, miserably!" said the Princess. "I hardly closed my eyes the whole night
						long! Goodness only knows what was in my bed! I slept upon something so hard
						that I am black and blue all over. It was dreadful!"</p>
					<p>So then they knew that she was a <em>real</em> Princess. For, through the
						twenty mattresses and the twenty feather beds, she had still felt the pea.
						No one but a <em>real</em> Princess could have had such a tender skin.</p>
					<p>So the Prince took her for his wife. He knew now that he had a <em>real</em>
						Princess.</p>
					<p>As for the pea, it was put in a museum where it may still be seen if no one
						has carried it away.</p>
					<p>Now this is a true story!</p>
				</section>
			</section>
			
			<section id="pgepubid00515">
				<h3>193</h3>
				<p class="intro">With some dozen exceptions, all of Andersen's <cite>Tales</cite> are
					based upon older stories, either upon some old folk tale or upon something that
					he ran across in his reading. Dr. Brandes, in his <cite>Eminent Authors</cite>, shows
					in detail how "The <a href="#s04-a01" epub:type="annoref">Emperor's</a> New Clothes" 
					came into being. "One day in turning over the
					leaves of Don Manuel's <cite>Count Lucanor</cite>, Andersen became charmed by the
					homely wisdom of the old Spanish story, with the delicate flavor of the Middle
					Ages pervading it, and he lingered over chapter vii, which treats of how a king
					was served by three rogues." But Andersen's story is a very different one in
					many ways from his Spanish original. For one thing, the meaning is so universal
					that no one can miss it. Most of us have, in all likelihood, at some time
					pretended to know what we do not know or to be what we are not in order to save
					our face, to avoid the censure or ridicule of others. "There is much concerning
					which people dare not speak the truth, through cowardice, through fear of acting
					otherwise than 'all the world,' through anxiety lest they should appear stupid.
					And the story is eternally new and it never ends. It has its grave side, but
					just because of its endlessness it has also its humorous side." When the absurd
					bubble of the grand procession is punctured by the child, whose mental honesty
					has not yet been spoiled by the pressure of convention, the Emperor "held
					himself stiffer than ever, and the chamberlains carried the invisible train."
					For it would never do to hold up the procession!</p>
				
				<aside epub:type="annotation" id="s04-a01">
					<p>Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Emporer's'</p>
				</aside>
				
				<section id="pgepubid00517">
					<div class="center"><span epub:type="pagebreak" title="181" id="Page_181">181</span></div>
					<h4>THE EMPEROR'S NEW CLOTHES</h4>
					
					<div epub:type="z3998:author">HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN<br />
						(Version by Alice Corbin Henderson)</div>
					
					<p>Many years ago there lived an Emperor who thought so much of new clothes that
						he spent all his money on them. He did not care for his soldiers; he did not
						care to go to the theater. He liked to drive out in the park only that he
						might show off his new clothes. He had a coat for every hour of the day.
						They usually say of a king, "He is in the council chamber." But of the
						Emperor they said, "He is in the clothes closet!"</p>
					<p>It was a gay city in which the Emperor lived. And many strangers came to
						visit it every day. Among these, one day, there came two rogues who set
						themselves up as weavers. They said they knew how to weave the most
						beautiful cloths imaginable. And not only were the colors and patterns used
						remarkably beautiful, but clothes made from this cloth could not be seen by
						any one who was unfit for the office he held or was too stupid for any
						use.</p>
					<p>"Those would be fine clothes!" thought the Emperor. "If I wore those I could
						find out what men in my empire were not fit for the places they held. I
						could tell the clever men from the dunces! I must have some clothes woven
						for me at once!"</p>
					<p>So he gave the two rogues a great deal of money that they might begin their
						work at once.</p>
					<p>The rogues immediately put up two looms and pretended to be working. But
						there was nothing at all on their looms. They called for the finest silks
						and the brightest gold, but this they put into their pockets. At the empty
						looms they worked steadily until late into the night.</p>
					<p>"I should like to know how the weavers are getting on with my clothes,"
						thought the Emperor.</p>
					<p>But he felt a little uneasy when he thought that any one who was stupid or
						was not fit for his office would be unable to see the cloth. Of course he
						had no fears for himself; but still he thought he would send some one else
						first, just to see how matters stood.</p>
					<p>"I will send my faithful old Minister to the weavers," thought the Emperor.
						"He can see how the stuff looks, for he is a clever man, and no one is so
						careful in fulfilling duties as he is!"</p>
					<p>So the good old Minister went into the room where the two rogues sat working
						at the empty looms.</p>
					<p>"Mercy on us!" thought the old Minister, opening his eyes wide, "I can't see
						a thing!" But he didn't care to say so.</p>
					<p>Both the rascals begged him to be good enough to step a little nearer. They
						pointed to the empty looms and asked him if he did not think the pattern and
						the coloring wonderful. The poor old Minister stared and stared as hard as
						he could, but he could not see anything, for, of course, there was nothing
						to see!</p>
					<p>"Mercy!" he said to himself. "Is it possible that I am a dunce? I never
						thought so! Certainly no one must know it. Am I unfit for office? It will
						never do to say that I cannot see the stuff!"</p>
					<p>"Well, sir, why do you say nothing of it?" asked the rogue who was pretending
						to weave.</p>
					<p>"Oh, it is beautiful—charming!" said the old Minister, peering through his
						spectacles. "What a fine pattern, and what wonderful colors! I shall tell
						the Emperor that I am very much pleased with it." <span epub:type="pagebreak"
							title="182" id="Page_182">182</span></p>
					<p>"Well, we are glad to hear you say so," answered the two swindlers.</p>
					<p>Then they named all the colors of the invisible cloth upon the looms, and
						described the peculiar pattern. The old Minister listened intently, so that
						he could repeat all that was said of it to the Emperor.</p>
					<p>The rogues now began to demand more money, more silk, and more gold thread in
						order to proceed with the weaving. All of this, of course, went into their
						pockets. Not a single strand was ever put on the empty looms at which they
						went on working.</p>
					<p>The Emperor soon sent another faithful friend to see how soon the new clothes
						would be ready. But he fared no better than the Minister. He looked and
						looked and looked, but still saw nothing but the empty looms.</p>
					<p>"Isn't that a pretty piece of stuff?" asked both rogues, showing and
						explaining the handsome pattern which was not there at all.</p>
					<p>"I am not stupid!" thought the man. "It must be that I am not worthy of my
						good position. That is, indeed, strange. But I must not let it be
						known!"</p>
					<p>So he praised the cloth he did not see, and expressed his approval of the
						color and the design that were not there. To the Emperor he said, "It is
						charming!"</p>
					<p>Soon everybody in town was talking about the wonderful cloth that the two
						rogues were weaving.</p>
					<p>The Emperor began to think now that he himself would like to see the
						wonderful cloth while it was still on the looms. Accompanied by a number of
						his friends, among whom were the two faithful officers who had already
						beheld the imaginary stuff, he went to visit the two men who were weaving,
						might and main, without any fiber and without any thread.</p>
					<p>"Isn't it splendid!" cried the two statesmen who had already been there, and
						who thought the others would see something upon the empty looms. "Look, your
						Majesty! What colors! And what a design!"</p>
					<p>"What's this?" thought the Emperor. "I see nothing at all! Am I a dunce? Am I
						not fit to be Emperor? That would be the worst thing that could happen to
						me, if it were true."</p>
					<p>"Oh, it is very pretty!" said the Emperor aloud. "It has my highest
						approval!"</p>
					<p>He nodded his head happily, and stared at the empty looms. Never would he say
						that he could see nothing!</p>
					<p>His friends, too, gazed and gazed, but saw no more than had the others. Yet
						they all cried out, "It is beautiful!" and advised the Emperor to wear a
						suit made of this cloth in a great procession that was soon to take
						place.</p>
					<p>"It is magnificent, gorgeous!" was the cry that went from mouth to mouth. The
						Emperor gave each of the rogues a royal ribbon to wear in his buttonhole,
						and called them the Imperial Court Weavers.</p>
					<p>The rogues were up the whole night before the morning of the procession. They
						kept more than sixteen candles burning. The people could see them hard at
						work, completing the new clothes of the Emperor. They took yards of stuff
						down from the empty looms; they made cuts in the air with big scissors; they
						sewed with needles without thread; and, at last, they said, "The clothes are
						ready!"</p>
					<p>The Emperor himself, with his grandest courtiers, went to put on his new
							suit. <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="183" id="Page_183">183</span></p>
					<p>"See!" said the rogues, lifting their arms as if holding something. "Here are
						the trousers! Here is the coat! Here is the cape!" and so on. "It is as
						light as a spider's web. One might think one had nothing on. But that is
						just the beauty of it!"</p>
					<p>"Very nice," said the courtiers. But they could see nothing; for there
							<em>was</em> nothing!</p>
					<p>"Will your Imperial Majesty be graciously pleased to take off your clothes,"
						asked the rogues, "so that we may put on the new ones before this long
						mirror?"</p>
					<p>The Emperor took off all his own clothes, and the two rogues pretended to put
						on each new garment as it was ready. They wrapped him about, and they tied
						and they buttoned. The Emperor turned round and round before the mirror.</p>
					<p>"How well his Majesty looks in his new clothes!" said the people. "How
						becoming they are! What a pattern! What colors! It is a beautiful
						dress!"</p>
					<p>"They are waiting outside with the canopy which is to be carried over your
						Majesty in the procession," said the master of ceremonies.</p>
					<p>"I am ready," said the Emperor. "Don't the clothes fit well?" he asked,
						giving a last glance into the mirror as though he were looking at all his
						new finery.</p>
					<p>The men who were to carry the train of the Emperor's cloak stooped down to
						the floor as if picking up the train, and then held it high in the air. They
						did not dare let it be known that they could see nothing.</p>
					<p>So the Emperor marched along under the bright canopy. Everybody in the
						streets and at the windows cried out: "How beautiful the Emperor's new
						clothes are! What a fine train! And they fit to perfection!"</p>
					<p>No one would let it be known that he could see nothing, for that would have
						proved that he was unfit for office or that he was very, very stupid. None
						of the Emperor's clothes had ever been as successful as these.</p>
					<p>"But he has nothing on!" said a little child.</p>
					<p>"Just listen to the innocent!" said its father.</p>
					<p>But one person whispered to another what the child had said. "He has nothing
						on! A child says he has nothing on!"</p>
					<p>"But he has nothing on!" at last cried all the people.</p>
					<p>The Emperor writhed, for he knew that this was true. But he realized that it
						would never do to stop the procession. So he held himself stiffer than ever,
						and the chamberlains carried the invisible train.</p>
				</section>
			</section>
			
			<section id="pgepubid00520">
				<h3>194</h3>
				<p class="intro">In his story "The Nightingale," Andersen suggests that the
					so-called upper class of society may become so conventionalized as to be unable
					to appreciate true beauty. Poor fishermen and the little kitchen girl in the
					story recognize the beauty of the exquisite song of the nightingale, and
					Andersen shows his regard for royalty by having the emperor appreciate it twice.
					The last part of the story is especially impressive. When Death approached the
					emperor and took from him the symbols that had made him rank above his fellows,
					the emperor saw the realities of life and again perceived the beauty of the
					nightingale's song. This contact with real life made Death shrink away. Then the
					emperor learned Andersen's message to artificial society: If you would behold
					true beauty, you must have it in your own heart.</p>
				
				<section id="pgepubid00522">
					<div class="center"><span epub:type="pagebreak" title="184" id="Page_184">184</span></div>
					<h4>THE NIGHTINGALE</h4>
					<div epub:type="z3998:author">HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN</div>
					
					<p>In China, you must know, the Emperor is a Chinaman, and all whom he has about
						him are Chinamen too. It happened a good many years ago, but that's just why
						it's worth while to hear the story before it is forgotten. The Emperor's
						palace was the most splendid in the world; it was made entirely of
						porcelain, very costly, but so delicate and brittle that one had to take
						care how one touched it. In the garden were to be seen the most wonderful
						flowers, and to the costliest of them silver bells were tied, which sounded,
						so that nobody should pass by without noticing the flowers. Yes, everything
						in the Emperor's garden was admirably arranged. And it extended so far that
						the gardener himself did not know where the end was. If a man went on and
						on, he came into a glorious forest with high trees and deep lakes. The wood
						extended straight down to the sea, which was blue and deep; great ships
						could sail, too, beneath the branches of the trees; and in the trees lived a
						Nightingale, which sang so splendidly that even the poor fisherman, who had
						many other things to do, stopped still and listened, when he had gone out at
						night to throw out his nets, and heard the Nightingale.</p>
					<p>"How beautiful that is!" he said; but he was obliged to attend to his
						property, and thus forgot the bird. But when the next night the bird sang
						again, and the fisherman heard it, he exclaimed again, "How beautiful that
						is!"</p>
					<p>From all the countries of the world travelers came to the city of the
						Emperor, and admired it, and the palace and the garden, but when they heard
						the Nightingale, they said, "That is the best of all!"</p>
					<p>And the travelers told of it when they came home; and the learnèd men wrote
						many books about the town, the palace, and the garden. But they did not
						forget the Nightingale; that was placed highest of all; and those who were
						poets wrote most magnificent poems about the Nightingale in the wood by the
						deep lake.</p>
					<p>The books went through all the world, and a few of them once came to the
						Emperor. He sat in his golden chair, and read, and read: every moment he
						nodded his head, for it pleased him to peruse the masterly descriptions of
						the city, the palace, and the garden. "But the Nightingale is the best of
						all," it stood written there.</p>
					<p>"What's that?" exclaimed the Emperor. "I don't know the Nightingale at all!
						Is there such a bird in my empire, and even in my garden? I've never heard
						of that. To think that I should have to learn such a thing for the first
						time from books!"</p>
					<p>And hereupon he called his cavalier. This cavalier was so grand that if
						anyone lower in rank than himself dared to speak to him, or to ask him any
						question, he answered nothing but "P!"—and that meant nothing.</p>
					<p>"There is said to be a wonderful bird here called a Nightingale," said the
						Emperor. "They say it is the best thing in all my great empire. Why have I
						never heard anything about it?"</p>
					<p>"I have never heard him named," replied the cavalier. "He has never been
						introduced at Court."</p>
					<p>"I command that he shall appear this evening, and sing before me," said the
						Emperor. "All the world knows what I possess, and I do not know it
							myself!" <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="185" id="Page_185"
						/></p>
					<p>"I have never heard him mentioned," said the cavalier. "I will seek for him.
						I will find him."</p>
					<p>But where was he to be found? The cavalier ran up and down all the
						staircases, through halls and passages, but no one among all those whom he
						met had heard talk of the Nightingale. And the cavalier ran back to the
						Emperor, and said that it must be a fable invented by the writers of
						books.</p>
					<p>"Your Imperial Majesty cannot believe how much is written that is fiction,
						besides something that they call the black art."</p>
					<p>"But the book in which I read this," said the Emperor, "was sent to me by the
						high and mighty Emperor of Japan and therefore it cannot be a falsehood. I
							<em>will</em> hear the Nightingale! It must be here this evening! It has
						my imperial favor; and if it does not come, all the Court shall be trampled
						upon after the Court has supped!"</p>
					<p>"Tsing-pe!" said the cavalier; and again he ran up and down all the
						staircases, and through all the halls and corridors; and half the Court ran
						with him, for the courtiers did not like being trampled upon.</p>
					<p>Then there was a great inquiry after the wonderful Nightingale, which all the
						world knew excepting the people at Court.</p>
					<p>At last they met with a poor little girl in the kitchen, who said:</p>
					<p>"The Nightingale? I know it well; yes, it can sing gloriously. Every evening
						I get leave to carry my poor sick mother the scraps from the table. She
						lives down by the strand; and when I get back and am tired, and rest in the
						wood, then I hear the Nightingale sing. And then the water comes into my
						eyes, and it is just as if my mother kissed me."</p>
					<p>"Little kitchen girl," said the cavalier, "I will get you a place in the
						Court kitchen, with permission to see the Emperor dine, if you will but lead
						us to the Nightingale, for it is announced for this evening."</p>
					<p>So they all went out into the wood where the Nightingale was accustomed to
						sing; half the Court went forth. When they were in the midst of their
						journey a cow began to low.</p>
					<p>"Oh!" cried the Court pages, "now we have it! That shows a wonderful power in
						so small a creature! I have certainly heard it before."</p>
					<p>"No, those are cows lowing," said the little kitchen girl. "We are a long way
						from the place yet."</p>
					<p>Now the frogs began to croak in the marsh.</p>
					<p>"Glorious!" said the Chinese Court preacher. "Now I hear it—it sounds just
						like little church bells."</p>
					<p>"No, those are frogs," said the little kitchen maid. "But now I think we
						shall soon hear it."</p>
					<p>And then the Nightingale began to sing.</p>
					<p>"That is it!" exclaimed the little girl. "Listen, listen! and yonder it
						sits."</p>
					<p>And she pointed to a little gray bird up in the boughs.</p>
					<p>"Is it possible?" cried the cavalier. "I should never have thought it looked
						like that! How simple it looks! It must certainly have lost its color at
						seeing such grand people around."</p>
					<p>"Little Nightingale!" called the little kitchen maid, quite loudly, "our
						gracious Emperor wishes you to sing before him."</p>
					<p>"With the greatest pleasure!" replied the Nightingale, and began to sing most
							delightfully. <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="186" id="Page_186"
						/></p>
					<p>"It sounds just like glass bells!" said the cavalier. "And look at its little
						throat, how it's working! It's wonderful that we should never have heard it
						before. That bird will be a great success at Court."</p>
					<p>"Shall I sing once more before the Emperor?" inquired the Nightingale, for it
						thought the Emperor was present.</p>
					<p>"My excellent little Nightingale," said the cavalier, "I have great pleasure
						in inviting you to a Court festival this evening, when you shall charm his
						Imperial Majesty with your beautiful singing."</p>
					<p>"My song sounds best in the green wood," replied the Nightingale; still it
						came willingly when it heard what the Emperor wished.</p>
					<p>The palace was festively adorned. The walls and the flooring, which were of
						porcelain, gleamed in the rays of thousands of golden lamps. The most
						glorious flowers, which could ring clearly, had been placed in the passages.
						There was a running to and fro, and a thorough draught, and all the bells
						rang so loudly that one could not hear one's self speak.</p>
					<p>In the midst of the great hall, where the Emperor sat, a golden perch had
						been placed, on which the Nightingale was to sit. The whole Court was there,
						and the little cook-maid had got leave to stand behind the door, as she had
						now received the title of a real Court cook. All were in full dress, and all
						looked at the little gray bird, to which the Emperor nodded.</p>
					<p>And the Nightingale sang so gloriously that the tears came into the Emperor's
						eyes, and the tears ran down over his cheeks; then the Nightingale sang
						still more sweetly, that went straight to the heart. The Emperor was so much
						pleased that he said the Nightingale should have his golden slipper to wear
						round its neck. But the Nightingale declined this with thanks, saying it had
						already received a sufficient reward.</p>
					<p>"I have seen tears in the Emperor's eyes—that is the real treasure to me. An
						Emperor's tears have a peculiar power. I am rewarded enough!" And then it
						sang again with a sweet, glorious voice.</p>
					<p>"That's the most amiable coquetry I ever saw!" said the ladies who stood
						round about, and then they took water in their mouths to gurgle when anyone
						spoke to them. They thought they should be nightingales too. And the lackeys
						and chambermaids reported that they were satisfied also; and that was saying
						a good deal, for they are the most difficult to please. In short, the
						Nightingale achieved a real success.</p>
					<p>It was now to remain at Court, to have its own cage, with liberty to go out
						twice every day and once at night. Twelve servants were appointed when the
						Nightingale went out, each of whom had a silken string fastened to the
						bird's legs, which they held very tight. There was really no pleasure in an
						excursion of that kind.</p>
					<p>The whole city spoke of the wonderful bird, and whenever two people met, one
						said nothing but "Nightin," and the other said "gale"; and then they both
						sighed, and understood one another. Eleven pedlars' children were named
						after the bird, but not one of them could sing a note.</p>
					<p>One day the Emperor received a large parcel, on which was written, "The
						Nightingale."</p>
					<p>"There we have a new book about this celebrated bird," said the Emperor. <span
							epub:type="pagebreak" title="187" id="Page_187">187</span></p>
					<p>But it was not a book, but a little work of art, contained in a box—an
						artificial nightingale, which was to sing like a natural one, and was
						brilliantly ornamented with diamonds, sapphires, and rubies. So soon as the
						artificial bird was wound up, he could sing one of the pieces that he really
						sang, and then his tail moved up and down, and shone with silver and gold.
						Round his neck hung a little ribbon, and on that was written, "The Emperor
						of China's nightingale is poor compared to that of the Emperor of
						Japan."</p>
					<p>"That is capital!" said they all, and he who had brought the artificial bird
						immediately received the title, Imperial Head-Nightingale-Bringer.</p>
					<p>"Now they must sing together; what a duet that will be!" cried the
						courtiers.</p>
					<p>And so they had to sing together; but it did not sound very well, for the
						real Nightingale sang its own way, and the artificial bird sang waltzes.</p>
					<p>"That's not his fault," said the playmaster; "he's quite perfect, and very
						much in my style."</p>
					<p>Now the artificial bird was to sing alone. It had just as much success as the
						real one, and then it was much handsomer to look at—it shone like bracelets
						and breastpins.</p>
					<p>Three and thirty times over did it sing the same piece, and yet was not
						tired. The people would gladly have heard it again, but the Emperor said
						that the living Nightingale ought to sing something now. But where was it?
						No one had noticed that it had flown away out of the open window, back to
						the green wood.</p>
					<p>"But what has become of that?" asked the Emperor.</p>
					<p>And all the courtiers abused the Nightingale, and declared that it was a very
						ungrateful creature.</p>
					<p>"We have the best bird after all," said they.</p>
					<p>And so the artificial bird had to sing again, and that was the thirty-fourth
						time that they listened to the same piece. For all that they did not know it
						quite by heart, for it was so very difficult. And the playmaster praised the
						bird particularly; yes, he declared that it was better than a nightingale,
						not only with regard to its plumage and the many beautiful diamonds, but
						inside as well.</p>
					<p>"For you see, ladies and gentlemen, and above all, your Imperial Majesty,
						with a real nightingale one can never calculate what is coming, but in this
						artificial bird, everything is settled. One can explain it; one can open it
						and make people understand where the waltzes come from, how they go, and how
						one follows up another."</p>
					<p>"Those are quite our own ideas," they all said.</p>
					<p>And the speaker received permission to show the bird to the people on the
						next Sunday. The people were to hear it sing too, the Emperor commanded: and
						they did hear it, and were as much pleased as if they had all got tipsy upon
						tea, for that's quite the Chinese fashion, and they all said, "Oh!" and held
						up their forefingers and nodded. But the poor fisherman, who had heard the
						real Nightingale, said:</p>
					<p>"It sounds pretty enough, and the melodies resemble each other, but there's
						something wanting, though I know not what!"</p>
					<p>The real Nightingale was banished from the country and empire. The artificial
						bird had its place on a silken <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="188"
							id="Page_188">188</span> cushion close to the Emperor's bed; all the presents
						it had received, gold and precious stones, were ranged about it; in title it
						had advanced to be the High Imperial After-Dinner-Singer, and in rank to
						Number One on the left hand; for the Emperor considered that side the most
						important on which the heart is placed, and even in an Emperor the heart is
						on the left side; and the playmaster wrote a work of five and twenty volumes
						about the artificial bird; it was very learnèd and very long, full of the
						most difficult Chinese words; but yet all the people declared that they had
						read it and understood it, for fear of being considered stupid, and having
						their bodies trampled on.</p>
					<p>So a whole year went by. The Emperor, the Court, and all the other Chinese
						knew every little twitter in the artificial bird's song by heart. But just
						for that reason it pleased them best—they could sing with it themselves, and
						they did so. The street boys sang, "Tsi-tsi-tsi-glug-glug!" and the Emperor
						himself sang it too. Yes, that was certainly famous.</p>
					<p>But one evening, when the artificial bird was singing its best, and the
						Emperor lay in bed listening to it, something inside the bird said, "Whizz!"
						Something cracked. "Whir-r-r!" All the wheels ran round, and then the music
						stopped.</p>
					<p>The Emperor immediately sprang out of bed, and caused his body physician to
						be called; but what could <em>he</em> do? Then they sent for a watchmaker, and
						after a good deal of talking and investigation, the bird was put into
						something like order, but the watchmaker said that the bird must be
						carefully treated, for the barrels were worn, and it would be impossible to
						put new ones in in such a manner that the music would go. There was a great
						lamentation; only once in the year was it permitted to let the bird sing,
						and that was almost too much. But then the playmaster made a little speech
						full of heavy words, and said this was just as good as before—and so of
						course it was as good as before.</p>
					<p>Now five years had gone by, and a real grief came upon the whole nation. The
						Chinese were really fond of their Emperor, and now he was ill, and could
						not, it was said, live much longer. Already a new Emperor had been chosen,
						and the people stood out in the street and asked the cavalier how the
						Emperor did.</p>
					<p>"P!" said he, and shook his head.</p>
					<p>Cold and pale lay the Emperor in his great, gorgeous bed; the whole Court
						thought him dead, and each one ran to pay homage to the new ruler. The
						chamberlains ran out to talk it over, and the ladies' maids had a great
						coffee party. All about, in all the halls and passages, cloth had been laid
						down so that no footstep could be heard, and therefore it was quiet there,
						quite quiet. But the Emperor was not dead yet; stiff and pale he lay on the
						gorgeous bed, with the long velvet curtains and the heavy gold tassels; high
						up, a window stood open, and the moon shone in upon the Emperor and the
						artificial bird.</p>
					<p>The poor Emperor could scarcely breathe; it was just as if something lay upon
						his chest; he opened his eyes, and then he saw that it was Death who sat
						upon his chest, and had put on his golden crown, and held in one hand the
						Emperor's sword, in the other his beautiful banner. And all around, from
						among the folds of the splendid velvet curtains, strange heads peered forth;
						a few very <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="189" id="Page_189">189</span> ugly, the
						rest quite lovely and mild. These were all the Emperor's bad and good deeds,
						that stood before him now that Death sat upon his heart.</p>
					<p>"Do you remember this?" whispered one to the other. "Do you remember that?"
						and then they told him so much that the perspiration ran from his
						forehead.</p>
					<p>"I did not know that!" said the Emperor. "Music! music! the great Chinese
						drum!" he cried, "so that I need not hear all they say!"</p>
					<p>And they continued speaking, and Death nodded like a Chinaman to all they
						said.</p>
					<p>"Music! music!" cried the Emperor. "You little precious golden bird, sing,
						sing! I have given you gold and costly presents; I have even hung my golden
						slipper around your neck—sing now, sing!"</p>
					<p>But the bird stood still; no one was there to wind him up, and he could not
						sing without that; but Death continued to stare at the Emperor with his
						great, hollow eyes, and it was quiet, fearfully quiet.</p>
					<p>Then there sounded from the window, suddenly, the most lovely song. It was
						the little live Nightingale, that sat outside on a spray. It had heard of
						the Emperor's sad plight, and had come to sing to him of comfort and hope.
						As it sang the specters grew paler and paler; the blood ran quicker and more
						quickly through the Emperor's weak limbs; and even Death listened, and
						said:</p>
					<p>"Go on, little Nightingale, go on!"</p>
					<p>"But will you give me that splendid golden sword? Will you give me that rich
						banner? Will you give me the Emperor's crown?"</p>
					<p>And Death gave up each of these treasures for a song. And the Nightingale
						sang on and on; and it sang of the quiet churchyard where the white roses
						grow, where the elder blossoms smell sweet, and where the fresh grass is
						moistened by the tears of survivors. Then Death felt a longing to see his
						garden, and floated out at the window in the form of a cold white mist.</p>
					<p>"Thanks! thanks!" said the Emperor. "You heavenly little bird; I know you
						well. I banished you from my country and empire, and yet you have charmed
						away the evil faces from my couch, and banished Death from my heart! How can
						I reward you?"</p>
					<p>"You have rewarded me!" replied the Nightingale. "I have drawn tears from
						your eyes, when I sang the first time—I shall never forget that. Those are
						the jewels that rejoice a singer's heart. But now sleep, and grow fresh and
						strong again. I will sing you something."</p>
					<p>And it sang, and the Emperor fell into a sweet slumber. Ah! how mild and
						refreshing that sleep was! The sun shone upon him through the windows when
						he awoke refreshed and restored: not one of his servants had yet returned,
						for they all thought he was dead; only the Nightingale still sat beside him
						and sang.</p>
					<p>"You must always stay with me," said the Emperor. "You shall sing as you
						please; and I'll break the artificial bird into a thousand pieces."</p>
					<p>"Not so," replied the Nightingale. "It did well as long as it could; keep it
						as you have done till now. I cannot build my nest in the palace to dwell in
						it, but let me come when I feel the wish; then I will sit in the evening on
						the spray yonder by the window, and sing you something, so that you may be
						glad and thoughtful at once. I will sing of those who are happy and of those
						who suffer. <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="190" id="Page_190">190</span> I will
						sing of good and of evil that remains hidden round about you. The little
						singing bird flies far around, to the poor fisherman, to the peasant's roof,
						to everyone who dwells far away from you and from your Court. I love your
						heart more than your crown, and yet the crown has an air of sanctity about
						it. I will come and sing to you—but one thing you must promise me."</p>
					<p>"Every thing!" said the Emperor; and he stood there in his imperial robes,
						which he had put on himself, and pressed the sword which was heavy with gold
						to his heart.</p>
					<p>"One thing I beg of you: tell no one that you have a little bird who tells
						you everything. Then it will go all the better."</p>
					<p>And the Nightingale flew away.</p>
					<p>The servants came in to look at their dead Emperor, and—yes, there he stood,
						and the Emperor said, "Good-morning!"</p>
				</section>
			</section>
			
			<section id="pgepubid00529">
				<h3>195</h3>
				
				<p class="intro">This story is a favorite for the Christmas season. It is loosely
					constructed, and rambles along for some time after it might have been expected
					to finish. Such rambling is often very attractive to childish listeners, as it
					allows the introduction of unexpected incidents. Miss Kready has some
					interesting suggestions about dramatizing this story in her <cite>Study of Fairy
						Tales</cite>, pp. 151-153. The translation is Dulcken's.</p>
				
				<section id="pgepubid00530">
					<h4>THE FIR TREE</h4>
					<div epub:type="z3998:author">HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN</div>
					
					<p>Out in the forest stood a pretty little Fir Tree. It had a good place; it
						could have sunlight, air there was in plenty, and all around grew many
						larger comrades—pines as well as firs. But the little Fir Tree wished
						ardently to become greater. It did not care for the warm sun and the fresh
						air; it took no notice of the peasant children, who went about talking
						together, when they had come out to look for strawberries and raspberries.
						Often they came with a whole pot-full, or had strung berries on a straw;
						then they would sit down by the little Fir Tree and say, "How pretty and
						small that one is!" and the Fir Tree did not like to hear that at all.</p>
					<p>Next year he had grown a great joint, and the following year he was longer
						still, for in fir trees one can always tell by the number of rings they have
						how many years they have been growing.</p>
					<p>"Oh, if I were only as great a tree as the other!" sighed the little Fir,
						"then I would spread my branches far around, and look out from my crown into
						the wide world. The birds would then build nests in my boughs, and when the
						wind blew I could nod just as grandly as the others yonder."</p>
					<p>It took no pleasure in the sunshine, in the birds, and in the red clouds that
						went sailing over him morning and evening.</p>
					<p>When it was winter, and the snow lay all around, white and sparkling, a hare
						would often come jumping along, and spring right over the little Fir Tree.
						Oh! this made him so angry. But two winters went by, and when the third came
						the little Tree had grown so tall that the hare was obliged to run round
						it.</p>
					<p>"Oh! to grow, to grow, and become old; that's the only fine thing in the
						world," thought the Tree.</p>
					<p>In the autumn woodcutters always came and felled a few of the largest trees;
						that was done this year too, and the little Fir Tree, that was now quite
						well grown, shuddered with fear, for the <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="191"
							id="Page_191">191</span> great stately trees fell to the ground with a crash,
						and their branches were cut off, so that the trees looked quite naked, long,
						and slender—they could hardly be recognized. But then they were laid upon
						wagons, and horses dragged them away out of the wood. Where were they going?
						What destiny awaited them?</p>
					<p>In the spring, when the Swallows and the Stork came, the Tree asked them, "Do
						you know where they were taken? Did you not meet them?"</p>
					<p>The Swallows knew nothing about it, but the Stork looked thoughtful, nodded
						his head, and said:</p>
					<p>"Yes, I think so. I met many new ships when I flew out of Egypt; on the ships
						were stately masts; I fancy these were the trees. They smelt like fir. I can
						assure you they're stately—very stately."</p>
					<p>"Oh that I were only big enough to go over the sea! What kind of thing is
						this sea, and how does it look?"</p>
					<p>"It would take too long to explain all that," said the Stork, and he went
						away.</p>
					<p>"Rejoice in thy youth," said the Sunbeams; "rejoice in thy fresh growth, and
						in the young life that is within thee."</p>
					<p>And the wind kissed the Tree, and the dew wept tears upon it; but the Fir
						Tree did not understand that.</p>
					<p>When Christmas-time approached, quite young trees were felled, sometimes
						trees which were neither so old nor so large as this Fir Tree, that never
						rested, but always wanted to go away. These young trees, which were always
						the most beautiful, kept all their branches; they were put upon wagons, and
						horses dragged them away out of the wood.</p>
					<p>"Where are they all going?" asked the Fir Tree. "They are not greater than
						I—indeed, one of them was much smaller. Why do they keep all their branches?
						Whither are they taken?"</p>
					<p>"We know that! We know that!" chirped the Sparrows. "Yonder in the town we
						looked in at the windows. We know where they go. Oh! they are dressed up in
						the greatest pomp and splendor that can be imagined. We have looked in at
						the windows, and have perceived that they are planted in the middle of a
						warm room, and adorned with the most beautiful things—gilt apples,
						honey-cakes, playthings, and many hundred candles."</p>
					<p>"And then?" asked the Fir Tree, and trembled through all its branches. "And
						then? What happens then?"</p>
					<p>"Why, we have not seen anything more. But it was incomparable."</p>
					<p>"Perhaps I may be destined to tread this glorious path one day!" cried the
						Fir Tree, rejoicingly. "That is even better than traveling across the sea.
						How painfully I long for it! If it were only Christmas now! Now I am great
						and grown up, like the rest who were led away last year. Oh, if I were only
						on the carriage! If I were only in the warm room, among all the pomp and
						splendor! And then? Yes, then something even better will come, something far
						more charming, or else why should they adorn me so? There must be something
						grander, something greater still to come; but what? Oh! I'm suffering, I'm
						longing! I don't know myself what is the matter with me!"</p>
					<p>"Rejoice in us," said Air and Sunshine. "Rejoice in thy fresh youth here in
						the woodland."</p>
					<p>But the Fir Tree did not rejoice at all, but it grew and grew; winter and
						summer it stood there, green, dark green. The <span epub:type="pagebreak"
							title="192" id="Page_192">192</span> people who saw it said, "That's a
						handsome tree!" and at Christmas time it was felled before any one of the
						others. The ax cut deep into its marrow, and the tree fell to the ground
						with a sigh; it felt a pain, a sensation of faintness, and could not think
						at all of happiness, for it was sad at parting from its home, from the place
						where it had grown up; it knew that it should never again see the dear old
						companions, the little bushes and flowers all around—perhaps not even the
						birds. The parting was not at all agreeable.</p>
					<p>The Tree only came to itself when it was unloaded in a yard, with other
						trees, and heard a man say:</p>
					<p>"This one is famous; we want only this one!"</p>
					<p>Now two servants came in gay liveries, and carried the Fir Tree into a large,
						beautiful saloon. All around the walls hung pictures, and by the great stove
						stood large Chinese vases with lions on the covers; there were
						rocking-chairs, silken sofas, great tables covered with picture books, and
						toys worth a hundred times a hundred dollars, at least the children said so.
						And the Fir Tree was put into a great tub filled with sand; but no one could
						see that it was a tub, for it was hung round with green cloth, and stood on
						a large, many-colored carpet. Oh, how the Tree trembled! What was to happen
						now? The servants, and the young ladies also, decked it out. On one branch
						they hung little nets, cut out of colored paper; every net was filled with
						sweetmeats; golden apples and walnuts hung down, as if they grew there, and
						more than a hundred little candles, red, white, and blue, were fastened to
						the different boughs. Dolls that looked exactly like real people—the tree
						had never seen such before—swung among the foliage, and high on the summit
						of the Tree was fixed a tinsel star. It was splendid, particularly
						splendid.</p>
					<p>"This evening," said all, "this evening it will shine."</p>
					<p>"Oh," thought the Tree, "that it were evening already! Oh, that the lights
						may be soon lit up! When may that be done? I wonder if trees will come out
						of the forest to look at me? Will the sparrows fly against the panes? Shall
						I grow fast here, and stand adorned in summer and winter?"</p>
					<p>Yes, he did not guess badly. But he had a complete backache from mere
						longing, and the backache is just as bad for a Tree as the headache for a
						person.</p>
					<p>At last the candles were lighted. What a brilliance, what splendor! The Tree
						trembled so in all its branches that one of the candles set fire to a green
						twig, and it was scorched.</p>
					<p>"Heaven preserve us!" cried the young ladies; and they hastily put the fire
						out.</p>
					<p>Now the Tree might not even tremble. Oh, that was terrible! It was so afraid
						of setting fire to some of its ornaments, and it was quite bewildered with
						all the brilliance. And now the folding doors were thrown open, and a number
						of children rushed in as if they would have overturned the whole Tree; the
						older people followed more deliberately. The little ones stood quite silent,
						but only for a minute; then they shouted till the room rang: they danced
						gleefully round the Tree, and one present after another was plucked from
						it.</p>
					<p>"What are they about?" thought the Tree. "What's going to be done?"</p>
					<p>And the candles burned down to the twigs, and as they burned down they <span
							epub:type="pagebreak" title="193" id="Page_193">193</span> were extinguished,
						and then the children received permission to plunder the Tree. Oh! they
						rushed in upon it, so that every branch cracked again: if it had not been
						fastened by the top and by the golden star to the ceiling, it would have
						fallen down.</p>
					<p>The children danced about with their pretty toys. No one looked at the Tree
						except one old man, who came up and peeped among the branches, but only to
						see if a fig or an apple had not been forgotten.</p>
					<p>"A story! A story!" shouted the children; and they drew a little fat man
						toward the tree; and he sat down just beneath it—"for then we shall be in
						the green wood," said he, "and the tree may have the advantage of listening
						to my tale. But I can only tell one. Will you hear the story of Ivede-Avede,
						or of Klumpey-Dumpey, who fell downstairs, and still was raised up to honor
						and married the Princess?"</p>
					<p>"Ivede-Avede!" cried some, "Klumpey-Dumpey!" cried others, and there was a
						great crying and shouting. Only the Fir Tree was quite silent, and thought,
						"Shall I not be in it? Shall I have nothing to do in it?" But he had been in
						the evening's amusement, and had done what was required of him.</p>
					<p>And the fat man told about Klumpey-Dumpey who fell downstairs, and yet was
						raised to honor and married the Princess. And the children clapped their
						hands, and cried, "Tell another! tell another!" for they wanted to hear
						about Ivede-Avede; but they only got the story of Klumpey-Dumpey. The Fir
						Tree stood quite silent and thoughtful; never had the birds in the wood told
						such a story as that. Klumpey-Dumpey fell downstairs, and yet came to honor
						and married the Princess!</p>
					<p>"Yes, so it happens in the world!" thought the Fir Tree, and believed it must
						be true, because that was such a nice man who told it. "Well, who can know?
						Perhaps I shall fall downstairs, too, and marry a Princess!" And it looked
						forward with pleasure to being adorned again, the next evening, with candles
						and toys, gold and fruit. "To-morrow I shall not tremble," it thought.</p>
					<p>"I will rejoice in all my splendor. To-morrow I shall hear the story of
						Klumpey-Dumpey again, and perhaps that of Ivede-Avede, too."</p>
					<p>And the Tree stood all night quiet and thoughtful.</p>
					<p>In the morning the servants and the chambermaid came in.</p>
					<p>"Now my splendor will begin afresh," thought the Tree. But they dragged him
						out of the room, and upstairs to the garret, and here they put him in a dark
						corner where no daylight shone.</p>
					<p>"What's the meaning of this?" thought the Tree. "What am I to do here? What
						is to happen?"</p>
					<p>And he leaned against the wall, and thought, and thought. And he had time
						enough, for days and nights went by, and nobody came up; and when at length
						someone came, it was only to put some great boxes in a corner. Now the Tree
						stood quite hidden away, and the supposition is that it was quite
						forgotten.</p>
					<p>"Now it's winter outside," thought the Tree. "The earth is hard and covered
						with snow, and people cannot plant me; therefore I suppose I'm to be
						sheltered here until spring comes. How considerate that is! How good people
						are! If it were only not so dark <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="194"
							id="Page_194">194</span> here, and so terribly solitary!—not even a little
						hare? That was pretty out there in the wood, when the snow lay thick and the
						hare sprang past; yes, even when he jumped over me; but then I did not like
						it. It is terribly lonely up here!"</p>
					<p>"Piep! piep!" said a little Mouse, and crept forward, and then came another
						little one. They smelt at the Fir Tree, and then slipped among the
						branches.</p>
					<p>"It's horribly cold," said the two little Mice, "or else it would be
						comfortable here. Don't you think so, you old Fir Tree?"</p>
					<p>"I'm not old at all," said the Fir Tree. "There are many much older than
						I."</p>
					<p>"Where do you come from?" asked the Mice. "And what do you know?" They were
						dreadfully inquisitive. "Tell us about the most beautiful spot on earth.
						Have you been there? Have you been in the store room, where cheeses lie on
						the shelves, and hams hang from the ceiling, where one dances on tallow
						candles, and goes in thin and comes out fat?"</p>
					<p>"I don't know that," replied the Tree; "but I know the wood, where the sun
						shines and the birds sing."</p>
					<p>And then it told all about its youth.</p>
					<p>And the little Mice had never heard anything of the kind; and they listened
						and said:</p>
					<p>"What a number of things you have seen! How happy you must have been!"</p>
					<p>"I?" replied the Fir Tree; and it thought about what it had told. "Yes, those
						were really quite happy times." But then he told of the Christmas Eve, when
						he had been hung with sweetmeats and candles.</p>
					<p>"Oh!" said the little Mice, "how happy you have been, you old Fir Tree!"</p>
					<p>"I'm not old at all," said the Tree. "I only came out of the wood this
						winter. I'm only rather backward in my growth."</p>
					<p>"What splendid stories you can tell!" said the little Mice.</p>
					<p>And next night they came with four other little Mice, to hear what the Tree
						had to relate; and the more it said, the more clearly did it remember
						everything, and thought, "Those were quite merry days! But they may come
						again. Klumpey-Dumpey fell downstairs, and yet he married the Princess.
						Perhaps I may marry a Princess too!" And the Fir Tree thought of a pretty
						little Birch Tree that grew out in the forest; for the Fir Tree, that Birch
						was a real Princess.</p>
					<p>"Who's Klumpey-Dumpey?" asked the little Mice.</p>
					<p>And then the Fir Tree told the whole story. It could remember every single
						word; and the little Mice were ready to leap to the very top of the tree
						with pleasure. Next night a great many more Mice came, and on Sunday two
						Rats even appeared; but these thought the story was not pretty, and the
						little Mice were sorry for that, for now they also did not like it so much
						as before.</p>
					<p>"Do you only know one story?" asked the Rats.</p>
					<p>"Only that one," replied the Tree. "I heard that on the happiest evening of
						my life; I did not think then how happy I was."</p>
					<p>"That's a very miserable story. Don't you know any about bacon and tallow
						candles—a store-room story?"</p>
					<p>"No," said the Tree.</p>
					<p>"Then we'd rather not hear you," said the Rats.</p>
					<p>And they went back to their own people. The little Mice at last stayed <span
							epub:type="pagebreak" title="195" id="Page_195">195</span> away also; and then
						the Tree sighed and said:</p>
					<p>"It was very nice when they sat round me, the merry little Mice, and listened
						when I spoke to them. Now that's past too. But I shall remember to be
						pleased when they take me out."</p>
					<p>But when did that happen? Why, it was one morning that people came and
						rummaged in the garret: the boxes were put away, and the Tree brought out;
						they certainly threw him rather roughly on the floor, but a servant dragged
						him away at once to the stairs, where the daylight shone.</p>
					<p>"Now life is beginning again!" thought the Tree.</p>
					<p>It felt the fresh air and the first sunbeams, and now it was out in the
						courtyard. Everything passed so quickly that the Tree quite forgot to look
						at itself, there was so much to look at all round. The courtyard was close
						to a garden, and here everything was blooming; the roses hung fresh and
						fragrant over the little paling, the linden trees were in blossom, and the
						swallows cried, "Quinze-wit! quinze-wit! my husband's come!" But it was not
						the Fir Tree that they meant.</p>
					<p>"Now I shall live!" said the Tree, rejoicingly, and spread its branches far
						out; but, alas! they were all withered and yellow; and it lay in the corner
						among nettles and weeds. The tinsel star was still upon it, and shone in the
						bright sunshine.</p>
					<p>In the courtyard a couple of the merry children were playing who had danced
						round the tree at Christmas time, and had rejoiced over it. One of the
						youngest ran up and tore off the golden star.</p>
					<p>"Look what is sticking to the ugly old fir tree!" said the child, and he trod
						upon the branches till they cracked again under his boots.</p>
					<p>And the Tree looked at all the blooming flowers and the splendor of the
						garden, and then looked at itself, and wished it had remained in the dark
						corner of the garret; it thought of its fresh youth in the wood, of the
						merry Christmas Eve, and of the little Mice which had listened so pleasantly
						to the story of Klumpey-Dumpey.</p>
					<p>"Past! past!" said the old Tree. "Had I but rejoiced when I could have done
						so! Past! past!"</p>
					<p>And the servant came and chopped the Tree into little pieces; a whole bundle
						lay there; it blazed brightly under the great brewing copper, and it sighed
						deeply, and each sigh was like a little shot; and the children who were at
						play there ran up and seated themselves at the fire, looked into it, and
						cried "Puff! puff!" But at each explosion, which was a deep sigh, the Tree
						thought of a summer day in the woods, or of a winter night there, when the
						stars beamed; he thought of Christmas Eve and of Klumpey-Dumpey, the only
						story he had ever heard or knew how to tell; and then the Tree was
						burned.</p>
					<p>The boys played in the garden, and the youngest had on his breast a golden
						star, which the Tree had worn on its happiest evening. Now that was past,
						and the Tree's life was past, and the story is past too: past! past!—and
						that's the way with all stories.</p>
				</section>
			</section>
			
			<section id="pgepubid00536">
				<h3>196</h3>
				
				<p class="intro">The tale that follows was one of the author's earliest stories,
					published in 1835. It is clearly based upon an old folk tale, one variant of
					which is "The Blue Light" from the Grimm collection (No. 174). "It was <span
						epub:type="pagebreak" title="196" id="Page_196">196</span> a lucky stroke," says
					Brandes, "that made Andersen the poet of children. After long fumbling, after
					unsuccessful efforts, which must necessarily throw a false and ironic light on
					the self-consciousness of a poet whose pride based its justification mainly on
					the expectancy of a future which he felt slumbering within his soul, after
					wandering about for long years, Andersen … one evening found himself in
					front of a little insignificant yet mysterious door, the door of the nursery
					story. He touched it, it yielded, and he saw, burning in the obscurity within,
					the little 'Tinder-Box' that became his Aladdin's lamp. He struck fire with it,
					and the spirits of the lamp—the dogs with eyes as large as tea-cups, as
					mill-wheels, as the round tower in Copenhagen—stood before him and brought him
					the three giant chests, containing all the copper, silver, and gold treasure
					stories of the nursery story. The first story had sprung into existence, and the
					'Tinder-Box' drew all the others onward in its train. Happy is he who has found
					his 'tinder-box.'" The translation is by H. W. Dulcken.</p>
				
				<section id="pgepubid00538">
					<h4>THE TINDER-BOX</h4>
					<div epub:type="z3998:author">HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN</div>
					
					<p>There came a soldier marching along the high road—<em>one, two! one, two!</em>
						He had his knapsack on his back and a saber by his side, for he had been in
						the wars, and now he wanted to go home. And on the way he met with an old
						witch; she was very hideous, and her under lip hung down upon her breast.
						She said, "Good evening, soldier. What a fine sword you have, and what a big
						knapsack! You're a proper soldier! Now you shall have as much money as you
						like to have."</p>
					<p>"I thank you, you old witch!" said the soldier.</p>
					<p>"Do you see that great tree?" quoth the witch; and she pointed to a tree
						which stood beside them. "It's quite hollow inside. You must climb to the
						top, and then you'll see a hole, through which you can let yourself down and
						get deep into the tree. I'll tie a rope round your body, so that I can pull
						you up again when you call me."</p>
					<p>"What am I to do down in the tree?" asked the soldier.</p>
					<p>"Get money," replied the witch. "Listen to me. When you come down to the
						earth under the tree, you will find yourself in a great hall: it is quite
						light, for above three hundred lamps are burning there. Then you will see
						three doors; those you can open, for the keys are hanging there. If you go
						into the first chamber, you'll see a great chest in the middle of the floor;
						on this chest sits a dog, and he's got a pair of eyes as big as two
						tea-cups. But you need not care for that. I'll give you my blue-checked
						apron, and you can spread it out upon the floor; then go up quickly and take
						the dog, and set him on my apron; then open the chest, and take as many
						shillings as you like. They are of copper: if you prefer silver, you must go
						into the second chamber. But there sits a dog with a pair of eyes as big as
						mill-wheels. But do not you care for that. Set him upon my apron, and take
						some of the money. And if you want gold, you can have that too—in fact, as
						much as you can carry—if you go into the third chamber. But the dog that
						sits on the money-chest there has two eyes as big as round towers. He is a
						fierce dog, you may be sure; but you needn't be afraid, for all that. Only
						set him on my apron, and he won't hurt you; and take out of the chest as
						much gold as you like." <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="197" id="Page_197"
						/></p>
					<p>"That's not so bad," said the soldier. "But what am I to give you, old witch?
						for you will not do it for nothing, I fancy."</p>
					<p>"No," replied the witch, "not a single shilling will I have. You shall only
						bring me an old tinder-box which my grandmother forgot when she was down
						there last."</p>
					<p>"Then tie the rope round my body," cried the soldier.</p>
					<p>"Here it is," said the witch, "and here's my blue-checked apron."</p>
					<p>Then the soldier climbed up into the tree, let himself slip down into the
						hole, and stood, as the witch had said, in the great hall where the three
						hundred lamps were burning.</p>
					<p>Now he opened the first door. Ugh! there sat the dog with eyes as big as
						tea-cups, staring at him. "You're a nice fellow!" exclaimed the soldier; and
						he set him on the witch's apron, and took as many copper shillings as his
						pockets would hold, and then locked the chest, set the dog on it again, and
						went into the second chamber. Aha! there sat the dog with eyes as big as
						mill-wheels.</p>
					<p>"You should not stare so hard at me," said the soldier; "you might strain
						your eyes." And he set the dog upon the witch's apron. And when he saw the
						silver money in the chest, he threw away all the copper money he had, and
						filled his pocket and his knapsack with silver only. Then he went into the
						third chamber. Oh, but that was horrid! The dog there really had eyes as big
						as towers, and they turned round and round in his head like wheels.</p>
					<p>"Good evening!" said the soldier; and he touched his cap, for he had never
						seen such a dog as that before. When he had looked at him a little more
						closely, he thought, "That will do," and lifted him down to the floor, and
						opened the chest. Mercy! what a quantity of gold was there! He could buy
						with it the whole town, and the sugar sucking-pigs of the cake woman, and
						all the tin soldiers, whips, and rocking-horses in the whole world. Yes,
						that was a quantity of money! Now the soldier threw away all the silver coin
						with which he had filled his pockets and his knapsack, and took gold
						instead: yes, all his pockets, his knapsack, his boots, and his cap were
						filled, so that he could scarcely walk. Now indeed he had plenty of money.
						He put the dog on the chest, shut the door, and then called up through the
						tree, "Now pull me up, you old witch."</p>
					<p>"Have you the tinder-box?" asked the witch.</p>
					<p>"Plague on it!" exclaimed the soldier, "I had clean forgotten that." And he
						went and brought it.</p>
					<p>The witch drew him up, and he stood on the high road again, with pockets,
						boots, knapsack, and cap full of gold.</p>
					<p>"What are you going to do with the tinder-box?" asked the soldier.</p>
					<p>"That's nothing to you," retorted the witch. "You've had your money—just give
						me the tinder-box."</p>
					<p>"Nonsense!" said the soldier. "Tell me directly what you're going to do with
						it, or I'll draw my sword and cut off your head."</p>
					<p>"No!" cried the witch.</p>
					<p>So the soldier cut off her head. There she lay! But he tied up all his money
						in her apron, took it on his back like a bundle, put the tinder-box in his
						pocket, and went straight off toward the town.</p>
					<p>That was a splendid town! And he put up at the very best inn and asked for
						the finest rooms, and ordered his <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="198"
							id="Page_198">198</span> favorite dishes, for now he was rich, as he had so
						much money. The servant who had to clean his boots certainly thought them a
						remarkably old pair for such a rich gentleman; but he had not bought any new
						ones yet. The next day he procured proper boots and handsome clothes. Now
						our soldier had become a fine gentleman; and the people told him of all the
						splendid things which were in their city, and about the King, and what a
						pretty Princess the King's daughter was.</p>
					<p>"Where can one get to see her?" asked the soldier.</p>
					<p>"She is not to be seen at all," said they, all together; "she lives in a
						great copper castle, with a great many walls and towers round about it; no
						one but the King may go in and out there, for it has been prophesied that
						she shall marry a common soldier, and the King can't bear that."</p>
					<p>"I should like to see her," thought the soldier; but he could not get leave
						to do so. Now he lived merrily, went to the theater, drove in the King's
						garden, and gave much money to the poor; and this was very kind of him, for
						he knew from old times how hard it is when one has not a shilling. Now he
						was rich, had fine clothes, and gained many friends, who all said he was a
						rare one, a true cavalier; and that pleased the soldier well. But as he
						spent money every day and never earned any, he had at last only two
						shillings left; and he was obliged to turn out of the fine rooms in which he
						had dwelt, and had to live in a little garret under the roof, and clean his
						boots for himself, and mend them with a darning-needle. None of his friends
						came to see him, for there were too many stairs to climb.</p>
					<p>It was quite dark one evening, and he could not even buy himself a candle,
						when it occurred to him that there was a candle-end in the tinder-box which
						he had taken out of the hollow tree into which the witch had helped him. He
						brought out the tinder-box and the candle-end; but as soon as he struck fire
						and the sparks rose up from the flint, the door flew open, and the dog who
						had eyes as big as a couple of tea-cups, and whom he had seen in the tree,
						stood before him, and said:</p>
					<p>"What are my lord's commands?"</p>
					<p>"What is this?" said the soldier. "That's a famous tinder-box, if I can get
						everything with it that I want! Bring me some money," said he to the dog:
						and <em>whisk!</em> the dog was gone, and <em>whisk!</em> he was back again,
						with a great bag full of shillings in his mouth.</p>
					<p>Now the soldier knew what a capital tinder-box this was. If he struck it
						once, the dog came who sat upon the chest of copper money; if he struck it
						twice, the dog came who had the silver; and if he struck it three times,
						then appeared the dog who had the gold. Now the soldier moved back into the
						fine rooms, and appeared again in handsome clothes; and all his friends knew
						him again, and cared very much for him indeed.</p>
					<p>Once he thought to himself, "It is a very strange thing that one cannot get
						to see the Princess. They all say she is very beautiful; but what is the use
						of that, if she has always to sit in the great copper castle with the many
						towers? Can I not get to see her at all? Where is my tinder-box?" And so he
						struck a light, and <em>whisk!</em> came the dog with eyes as big as
						tea-cups.</p>
					<p>"It is midnight, certainly," said the soldier, "but I should very much like <span
							epub:type="pagebreak" title="199" id="Page_199">199</span> to see the
						Princess, only for one little moment."</p>
					<p>And the dog was outside the door directly, and, before the soldier thought
						it, came back with the Princess. She sat upon the dog's back and slept; and
						everyone could see she was a real Princess, for she was so lovely. The
						soldier could not refrain from kissing her, for he was a thorough soldier.
						Then the dog ran back again with the Princess. But when morning came, and
						the King and Queen were drinking tea, the Princess said she had had a
						strange dream, the night before, about a dog and a soldier—that she had
						ridden upon the dog, and the soldier had kissed her.</p>
					<p>"That would be a fine history!" said the Queen.</p>
					<p>So one of the old Court ladies had to watch the next night by the Princess's
						bed, to see if this was really a dream, or what it might be.</p>
					<p>The soldier had a great longing to see the lovely Princess again; so the dog
						came in the night, took her away, and ran as fast as he could. But the old
						lady put on water-boots, and ran just as fast after him. When she saw that
						they both entered a great house, she thought, "Now I know where it is"; and
						with a bit of chalk she drew a great cross on the door. Then she went home
						and lay down, and the dog came up with the Princess; but when he saw that
						there was a cross drawn on the door where the soldier lived, he took a piece
						of chalk too, and drew crosses on all the doors in the town. And that was
						cleverly done, for now the lady could not find the right door, because all
						the doors had crosses upon them.</p>
					<p>In the morning early came the King and the Queen, the old Court lady and all
						the officers, to see where it was the Princess had been. "Here it is!" said
						the King, when he saw the first door with a cross upon it. "No, my dear
						husband, it is there!" said the Queen, who descried another door which also
						showed a cross. "But there is one, and there is one!" said all, for wherever
						they looked there were crosses on the doors. So they saw that it would avail
						them nothing if they searched on.</p>
					<p>But the Queen was an exceedingly clever woman, who could do more than ride in
						a coach. She took her great gold scissors, cut a piece of silk into pieces,
						and made a neat little bag: this bag she filled with fine wheat flour, and
						tied it on the Princess's back; and when that was done, she cut a little
						hole in the bag, so that the flour would be scattered along all the way
						which the Princess should take.</p>
					<p>In the night the dog came again, took the Princess on his back, and ran with
						her to the soldier, who loved her very much, and would gladly have been a
						prince, so that he might have her for his wife. The dog did not notice at
						all how the flour ran out in a stream from the castle to the windows of the
						soldier's house, where he ran up the wall with the Princess. In the morning
						the King and Queen saw well enough where their daughter had been, and they
						took the soldier and put him in prison.</p>
					<p>There he sat. Oh, but it was dark and disagreeable there! And they said to
						him, "To-morrow you shall be hanged." That was not amusing to hear, and he
						had left his tinder-box at the inn. In the morning he could see, through the
						iron grating of the little window, how the people were hurrying out of the
						town to see him hanged. He heard the <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="200"
							id="Page_200">200</span> drums beat and saw the soldiers marching. All the
						people were running out, and among them was a shoemaker's boy with leather
						apron and slippers, and he galloped so fast that one of his slippers flew
						off, and came right against the wall where the soldier sat looking through
						the iron grating.</p>
					<p>"Halloo, you shoemaker's boy! you needn't be in such a hurry," cried the
						soldier to him: "it will not begin till I come. But if you will run to where
						I lived, and bring me my tinder-box, you shall have four shillings; but you
						must put your best leg foremost."</p>
					<p>The shoemaker's boy wanted to get the four shillings, so he went and brought
						the tinder-box, and—well, we shall hear now what happened.</p>
					<p>Outside the town a great gallows had been built, and around it stood the
						soldiers and many hundred thousand people. The King and Queen sat on a
						splendid throne, opposite to the Judges and the whole Council. The soldier
						already stood upon the ladder; but as they were about to put the rope round
						his neck, he said that before a poor criminal suffered his punishment an
						innocent request was always granted to him. He wanted very much to smoke a
						pipe of tobacco, as it would be the last pipe he should smoke in this world.
						The King would not say "No" to this; so the soldier took his tinder-box and
						struck fire. One—two—three—! and there suddenly stood all the dogs—the one
						with eyes as big as tea-cups, the one with eyes as large as mill-wheels, and
						the one whose eyes were as big as round towers.</p>
					<p>"Help me now, so that I may not be hanged," said the soldier. And the dogs
						fell upon the Judge and all the Council, seized one by the leg and another
						by the nose, and tossed them all many feet into the air, so that they fell
						down and were all broken to pieces.</p>
					<p>"I won't!" cried the King; but the biggest dog took him and the Queen and
						threw them after the others. Then the soldiers were afraid, and the people
						cried, "Little soldier, you shall be our King, and marry the beautiful
						Princess!"</p>
					<p>So they put the soldier into the King's coach, and all the three dogs darted
						on in front and cried "Hurrah!" and the boys whistled through their fingers,
						and the soldiers presented arms. The Princess came out of the copper castle,
						and became Queen, and she liked that well enough. The wedding lasted a week,
						and the three dogs sat at the table too, and opened their eyes wider than
						ever at all they saw.</p>
				</section>
			</section>
			
			<section id="pgepubid00543">
				<h3>197</h3>
				<p class="intro">The following is one of Andersen's early stories, published in
					1838. It has always been a great favorite. Whimsically odd couples, in this case
					so constant in their devotion to each other, seemed to appeal to Andersen. The
					romance of the Whip Top and the Ball in the little story "The Lovers" deals with
					another odd couple. "Constant" or "steadfast" are terms sometimes used in the
					different versions instead of "hardy," and, if they seem better to carry the
					meaning intended, teachers should feel free to substitute one of them in telling
					or reading the story. The translation is by H. W. Dulcken.</p>
				
				<section id="pgepubid00544">
					<h4>THE HARDY TIN SOLDIER</h4>
					<div epub:type="z3998:author">HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN</div>
					
					<p>There were once five-and-twenty tin soldiers; they were all brothers, for
						they had all been born of one old tin spoon. <span epub:type="pagebreak"
							title="201" id="Page_201">201</span> They shouldered their muskets, and looked
						straight before them; their uniform was red and blue, and very splendid. The
						first thing they had heard in the world, when the lid was taken off their
						box, had been the words, "Tin soldiers!" These words were uttered by a
						little boy, clapping his hands: the soldiers had been given to him, for it
						was his birthday; and now he put them upon the table. Each soldier was
						exactly like the rest; but one of them had been cast last of all, and there
						had not been enough tin to finish him; but he stood as firmly upon his one
						leg as the others on their two; and it was just this Soldier who became
						remarkable.</p>
					<p>On the table on which they had been placed stood many other playthings, but
						the toy that attracted most attention was a neat castle of cardboard.
						Through the little windows one could see straight into the hall. Before the
						castle some little trees were placed round a little looking-glass, which was
						to represent a clear lake. Waxen swans swam on this lake, and were mirrored
						in it. This was all very pretty; but the prettiest of all was a little lady,
						who stood at the open door of the castle; she was also cut out in paper, but
						she had a dress of the clearest gauze, and a little narrow blue ribbon over
						her shoulders, that looked like a scarf; and in the middle of this ribbon
						was a shining tinsel rose as big as her whole face. The little lady
						stretched out both her arms, for she was a dancer; and then she lifted one
						leg so high that the Tin Soldier could not see it at all, and thought that,
						like himself, she had but one leg.</p>
					<p>"That would be the wife for me," thought he; "but she is very grand. She
						lives in a castle, and I have only a box, and there are five-and-twenty of
						us in that. It is no place for her. But I must try to make acquaintance with
						her."</p>
					<p>And then he lay down at full length behind a snuff-box which was on the
						table; there he could easily watch the little dainty lady, who continued to
						stand upon one leg without losing her balance.</p>
					<p>When the evening came all the other tin soldiers were put into their box, and
						the people in the house went to bed. Now the toys began to play at
						"visiting," and at "war," and "giving balls." The tin soldiers rattled in
						their box, for they wanted to join, but could not lift the lid. The
						nutcracker threw somersaults, and the pencil amused itself on the table;
						there was so much noise that the canary woke up, and began to speak too, and
						even in verse. The only two who did not stir from their places were the Tin
						Soldier and the Dancing Lady: she stood straight up on the point of one of
						her toes, and stretched out both her arms; and he was just as enduring on
						his one leg; and he never turned his eyes away from her.</p>
					<p>Now the clock struck twelve—and, bounce! the lid flew off the snuff-box; but
						there was no snuff in it, but a little black Goblin: you see, it was a
						trick.</p>
					<p>"Tin Soldier!" said the Goblin, "don't stare at things that don't concern
						you."</p>
					<p>But the Tin Soldier pretended not to hear him.</p>
					<p>"Just you wait till to-morrow!" said the Goblin.</p>
					<p>But when the morning came, and the children got up, the Tin Soldier was
						placed in the window; and whether it was the Goblin or the draught that did
						it, all at once the window flew open, <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="202"
							id="Page_202">202</span> and the Soldier fell head over heels out of the third
						story. That was a terrible passage! He put his leg straight up, and stuck
						with helmet downward and his bayonet between the paving-stones.</p>
					<p>The servant-maid and the little boy came down directly to look for him, but
						though they almost trod upon him, they could not see him. If the Soldier had
						cried out "Here I am!" they would have found him; but he did not think it
						fitting to call out loudly, because he was in uniform.</p>
					<p>Now it began to rain; the drops soon fell thicker, and at last it came down
						into a complete stream. When the rain was past, two street boys came by.</p>
					<p>"Just look!" said one of them, "there lies a Tin Soldier. He must come out
						and ride in the boat."</p>
					<p>And they made a boat out of a newspaper, and put the Tin Soldier in the
						middle of it, and so he sailed down the gutter, and the two boys ran beside
						him and clapped their hands. Goodness preserve us! how the waves rose in
						that gutter, and how fast the stream ran! But then it had been a heavy rain.
						The paper boat rocked up and down, and sometimes turned round so rapidly
						that the Tin Soldier trembled; but he remained firm, and never changed
						countenance, and looked straight before him, and shouldered his musket.</p>
					<p>All at once the boat went into a long drain, and it became as dark as if he
						had been in his box.</p>
					<p>"Where am I going now?" he thought. "Yes, yes, that's the Goblin's fault. Ah!
						if the little lady only sat here with me in the boat, it might be twice as
						dark for what I should care."</p>
					<p>Suddenly there came a great Water Rat, which lived under the drain.</p>
					<p>"Have you a passport?" said the Rat. "Give me your passport."</p>
					<p>But the Tin Soldier kept silence, and held his musket tighter than ever.</p>
					<p>The boat went on, but the Rat came after it. Hu! how he gnashed his teeth,
						and called out to the bits of straw and wood:</p>
					<p>"Hold him! hold him! He hasn't paid toll—he hasn't shown his passport!"</p>
					<p>But the stream became stronger and stronger. The Tin Soldier could see the
						bright daylight where the arch ended; but he heard a roaring noise which
						might well frighten a bolder man. Only think—just where the tunnel ended,
						the drain ran into a great canal; and for him that would have been as
						dangerous as for us to be carried down a great waterfall.</p>
					<p>Now he was already so near it that he could not stop. The boat was carried
						out, the poor Tin Soldier stiffening himself as much as he could, and no one
						could say that he moved an eyelid. The boat whirled round three or four
						times, and was full of water to the very edge—it must sink. The Tin Soldier
						stood up to his neck in water, and the boat sank deeper and deeper, and the
						paper was loosened more and more; and now the water closed over the
						soldier's head. Then he thought of the pretty little Dancer, and how he
						should never see her again; and it sounded in the soldier's ears:</p>
					<div class="poem">
						<span class="line">Farewell, farewell, thou 
							<a href="#s04-a02" epub:type="annoref">warrior</a> brave,</span>
						<span class="c8">For this day thou must die!</span>
					</div>
					
					<aside epub:type="annotation" id="s04-a02">
						<p>Transcriber's Note: original reads 'warrier'</p>
					</aside>
					
					<p>And now the paper parted, and the Tin Soldier fell out; but at that moment he
						was snapped up by a great fish.</p>
					<p>Oh, how dark it was in that fish's body! It was darker yet than in the <span
							epub:type="pagebreak" title="203" id="Page_203">203</span> drain tunnel; and
						then it was very narrow too. But the Tin Soldier remained unmoved, and lay
						at full length shouldering his musket.</p>
					<p>The fish swam to and fro; he made the most wonderful movements, and then
						became quite still. At last something flashed through him like lightning.
						The daylight shone quite clear, and a voice said aloud, "The Tin Soldier!"
						The fish had been caught, carried to market, bought, and taken into the
						kitchen, where the cook cut him open with a large knife. She seized the
						Soldier round the body with both her hands and carried him into the room,
						where all were anxious to see the remarkable man who had traveled about in
						the inside of a fish; but the Tin Soldier was not at all proud. They placed
						him on the table, and there—no! What curious things may happen in the world.
						The Tin Soldier was in the very room in which he had been before! He saw the
						same children, and the same toys stood on the table; and there was the
						pretty castle with the graceful little Dancer. She was still balancing
						herself on one leg, and held the other extended in the air. She was hardy
						too. That moved the Tin Soldier; he was very nearly weeping tin tears, but
						that would not have been proper. He looked at her, but they said nothing to
						each other.</p>
					<p>Then one of the little boys took the Tin Soldier and flung him into the
						stove. He gave no reason for doing this. It must have been the fault of the
						Goblin in the snuff-box.</p>
					<p>The Tin Soldier stood there quite illuminated, and felt a heat that was
						terrible; but whether this heat proceeded from the real fire or from love he
						did not know. The colors had quite gone off from him; but whether that had
						happened on the journey, or had been caused by grief, no one could say. He
						looked at the little lady, she looked at him, and he felt that he was
						melting; but he still stood firm, shouldering his musket. Then suddenly the
						door flew open, and the draught of air caught the Dancer, and she flew like
						a sylph just into the stove to the Tin Soldier, and flashed up in a flame,
						and she was gone. Then the Tin Soldier melted down into a lump; and when the
						servant-maid took the ashes out next day, she found him in the shape of a
						little tin heart. But of the Dancer nothing remained but the tinsel rose,
						and that was burned as black as a coal.</p>
				</section>
			</section>
			
			<section id="pgepubid00548">
				<h3>198</h3>
				<p class="intro">"The Ugly Duckling" has always been regarded as one of Andersen's
					most exquisite stories. No one can fail to notice the parallel that suggests
					itself between the successive stages in the duckling's history and those in
					Andersen's own life. In this story, remarks Dr. Brandes, "there is the
					quintessence of the author's entire life (melancholy, humor, martyrdom, triumph)
					and of his whole nature: the gift of observation and the sparkling intellect
					which he used to avenge himself upon folly and wickedness, the varied faculties
					which constitute his genius." The standards of judgment used by the ducks, the
					turkey, the hen, and the cat are all delightfully and humorously satirical of
					human stupidity and shortsightedness. The translation used is by H. W.
					Dulcken.</p>
				
				<section id="pgepubid00549">
					<h4>THE UGLY DUCKLING</h4>
					<div epub:type="z3998:author">HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN</div>
					
					<p>It was glorious out in the country. It was summer, and the cornfields were
						yellow, and the oats were green; the hay <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="204"
							id="Page_204">204</span> had been put up in stacks in the green meadows, and
						the stork went about on his long red legs, and chattered Egyptian, for this
						was the language he had learned from his good mother. All around the fields
						and meadows were great forests, and in the midst of these forests lay deep
						lakes. Yes, it was really glorious out in the country. In the midst of the
						sunshine there lay an old farm, surrounded by deep canals, and from the wall
						down to the water grew great burdocks, so high that little children could
						stand upright under the loftiest of them. It was just as wild there as in
						the deepest wood. Here sat a Duck upon her nest, for she had to hatch her
						young ones; but she was almost tired out before the little ones came; and
						then she so seldom had visitors. The other ducks liked better to swim about
						in the canals than to run up to sit down under a burdock and cackle with
						her.</p>
					<p>At last one eggshell after another burst open. "Piep! piep!" it cried, and in
						all the eggs there were little creatures that stuck out their heads.</p>
					<p>"Rap! rap!" they said; and they all came rapping out as fast as they could,
						looking all round them under the green leaves; and the mother let them look
						as much as they chose, for green is good for the eyes.</p>
					<p>"How wide the world is!" said the young ones, for they certainly had much
						more room now than when they were in the eggs.</p>
					<p>"Do you think this is all the world!" asked the mother. "That extends far
						across the other side of the garden, quite into the parson's field, but I
						have never been there yet. I hope you are all together," she continued, and
						stood up. "No, I have not all. The largest egg still lies there. How long is
						that to last? I am really tired of it." And she sat down again.</p>
					<p>"Well, how goes it?" asked an old Duck who had come to pay her a visit.</p>
					<p>"It lasts a long time with that one egg," said the Duck who sat there. "It
						will not burst. Now, only look at the others; are they not the prettiest
						ducks one could possibly see? They are all like their father; the bad fellow
						never comes to see me."</p>
					<p>"Let me see the egg which will not burst," said the old visitor. "Believe me,
						it is a turkey's egg. I was once cheated in that way, and had much anxiety
						and trouble with the young ones, for they are afraid of the water. I could
						not get them to venture in. I quacked and clucked, but it was of no use. Let
						me see the egg. Yes, that's a turkey's egg! Let it lie there, and you teach
						the other children to swim."</p>
					<p>"I think I will sit on it a little longer," said the Duck. "I've sat so long
						now that I can sit a few days more."</p>
					<p>"Just as you please," said the old Duck; and she went away.</p>
					<p>At last the great egg burst. "Piep! piep!" said the little one, and crept
						forth. It was very large and very ugly. The Duck looked at it.</p>
					<p>"It's a very large duckling," said she; "none of the others look like that;
						can it really be a turkey chick? Now we shall soon find out. It must go into
						the water, even if I have to thrust it in myself."</p>
					<p>The next day the weather was splendidly bright, and the sun shone on all the
						green trees. The Mother-Duck went down to the water with all her little
						ones. Splash! she jumped into the water. "Quack! quack!" she said, and then
						one duckling after another plunged in. The <span epub:type="pagebreak"
							title="205" id="Page_205">205</span> water closed over their heads, but they
						came up in an instant, and swam capitally; their legs went of themselves,
						and there they were, all in the water. The ugly gray Duckling swam with
						them.</p>
					<p>"No, it's not a turkey," said she; "look how well it can use its legs, and
						how upright it holds itself. It is my own child! On the whole it's quite
						pretty, if one looks at it rightly. Quack! quack! come with me, and I'll
						lead you out into the great world, and present you in the poultry-yard; but
						keep close to me, so that no one may tread on you; and take care of the
						cats!"</p>
					<p>And so they came into the poultry-yard. There was a terrible riot going on in
						there, for two families were quarreling about an eel's head, and the cat got
						it after all.</p>
					<p>"See, that's how it goes in the world!" said the Mother-Duck; and she whetted
						her beak, for she, too, wanted the eel's head. "Only use your legs," she
						said. "See that you bustle about, and bow your heads before the old Duck
						yonder. She's the grandest of all here; she's of Spanish blood—that's why
						she's so fat; and do you see, she has a red rag round her leg; that's
						something particularly fine, and the greatest distinction a duck can enjoy;
						it signifies that one does not want to lose her, and that she's to be
						recognized by man and beast. Shake yourselves—don't turn in your toes; a
						well-brought-up Duck turns its toes quite out, just like father and mother,
						so! Now bend your necks and say 'Rap!'"</p>
					<p>And they did so; but the other Ducks round about looked at them, and said
						quite boldly:</p>
					<p>"Look there! now we're to have these hanging on, as if there were not enough
						of us already! And—fie—! how that Duckling yonder looks; we won't stand
						that!" And one duck flew up immediately, and bit it in the neck.</p>
					<p>"Let it alone," said the mother; "it does no harm to anyone."</p>
					<p>"Yes, but it's too large and peculiar," said the Duck who had bitten it; "and
						therefore it must be buffeted."</p>
					<p>"Those are pretty children that the mother has there," said the old Duck with
						the rag round her leg. "They're all pretty but that one; that was a failure.
						I wish she could alter it."</p>
					<p>"That cannot be done, my lady," replied the Mother-Duck. "It is not pretty,
						but it has a really good disposition, and swims as well as any other; I may
						even say it swims better. I think it will grow up pretty, and become smaller
						in time; it has lain too long in the egg, and therefore is not properly
						shaped." And then she pinched it in the neck, and smoothed its feathers.
						"Moreover, it is a drake," she said, "and therefore it is not of so much
						consequence. I think he will be very strong; he makes his way already."</p>
					<p>"The other ducklings are graceful enough," said the old Duck. "Make yourself
						at home; and if you find an eel's head, you may bring it me."</p>
					<p>And now they were at home. But the poor Duckling which had crept last out of
						the egg, and looked so ugly, was bitten and pushed and jeered, as much by
						the ducks as by the chickens.</p>
					<p>"It is too big!" they all said. And the turkey-cock, who had been born with
						spurs, and therefore thought himself an Emperor, blew himself up like a ship
						in full sail, and bore straight down upon it; then he gobbled, and grew
						quite red in the face. The poor Duckling did not know where it should stand
						or walk; <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="206" id="Page_206">206</span> it was quite
						melancholy, because it looked ugly and was scoffed at by the whole yard.</p>
					<p>So it went on the first day; and afterward it became worse and worse. The
						poor Duckling was hunted about by every one; even its brothers and sisters
						were quite angry with it, and said, "If the cat would only catch you, you
						ugly creature!" And the mother said, "If you were only far away!" And the
						ducks bit it, and the chickens beat it, and the girl who had to feed the
						poultry kicked at it with her foot.</p>
					<p>Then it ran and flew over the fence, and the little birds in the bushes flew
						up in fear.</p>
					<p>"That is because I am so ugly!" thought the Duckling; and it shut its eyes,
						but flew no farther; thus it came out into the great moor, where the Wild
						Ducks lived. Here it lay the whole night long; and it was weary and
						downcast.</p>
					<p>Toward morning the Wild Ducks flew up, and looked at their new companion.</p>
					<p>"What sort of a one are you?" they asked; and the Duckling turned in every
						direction, and bowed as well as it could. "You are remarkably ugly!" said
						the Wild Ducks. "But that is very indifferent to us, so long as you do not
						marry into our family."</p>
					<p>Poor thing! It certainly did not think of marrying, and only hoped to obtain
						leave to lie among the reeds and drink some of the swamp-water.</p>
					<p>Thus it lay two whole days; then came thither two Wild Geese, or, properly
						speaking, two wild ganders. It was not long since each had crept out of an
						egg, and that's why they were so saucy.</p>
					<p>"Listen, comrade," said one of them. "You're so ugly that I like you. Will
						you go with us, and become a bird of passage? Near here, in another moor,
						there are a few sweet lovely wild geese, all unmarried, and all able to say,
						'Rap!' You've a chance of making your fortune, ugly as you are!"</p>
					<p>"Piff! paff!" resounded through the air; and the two ganders fell down dead
						in the swamp, and the water became blood-red. "Piff! paff!" it sounded
						again, and whole flocks of wild geese rose up from the reeds. And then there
						was another report. A great hunt was going on. The hunters were lying in
						wait all round the moor, and some were even sitting up in the branches of
						the trees, which spread far over the reeds. The blue smoke rose up like
						clouds among the dark trees, and was wafted far away across the water; and
						the hunting dogs came—splash, splash!—into the swamp, and the rushes and the
						reeds bent down on every side. That was a fright for the poor Duckling! It
						turned its head, and put it under its wing; but at that moment a frightful
						great dog stood close by the Duckling. His tongue hung far out of his mouth
						and his eyes gleamed horrible and ugly; he thrust out his nose close against
						the Duckling, showed his sharp teeth, and—splash, splash!—on he went without
						seizing it.</p>
					<p>"Oh, Heaven be thanked!" sighed the Duckling. "I am so ugly that even the dog
						does not like to bite me!"</p>
					<p>And so it lay quite quiet, while the shots rattled through the reeds and gun
						after gun was fired. At last, late in the day, silence was restored; but the
						poor Duckling did not dare to rise up; it waited several hours before it
						looked round, and then hastened away out of the moor as fast as it could. It
						ran on over field and meadow; there was such a storm raging that it was
						difficult to get from one place to another. <span epub:type="pagebreak"
							title="207" id="Page_207">207</span></p>
					<p>Toward evening the Duck came to a little miserable peasant's hut. This hut
						was so dilapidated that it did not know on which side it should fall; and
						that's why it remained standing. The storm whistled round the Duckling in
						such a way that the poor creature was obliged to sit down, to stand against
						it; and the tempest grew worse and worse. Then the Duckling noticed that one
						of the hinges of the door had given way, and the door hung so slanting that
						the Duckling could slip through the crack into the room; and it did so.</p>
					<p>Here lived a woman with her Tom Cat and her Hen. And the Tom Cat, whom she
						called Sonnie, could arch his back and purr. He could even give out sparks;
						but for that one had to stroke his fur the wrong way. The Hen had quite
						little short legs, and therefore she was called Chickabiddy-shortshanks; she
						laid good eggs, and the woman loved her as her own child.</p>
					<p>In the morning the strange Duckling was at once noticed, and the Tom Cat
						began to purr, and the Hen to cluck.</p>
					<p>"What's this?" said the woman, and looked all round; but she could not see
						well, and therefore she thought the Duckling was a fat duck that had
						strayed. "This is a rare prize," she said. "Now I shall have duck's eggs. I
						hope it is not a drake. We must try that."</p>
					<p>And so the Duckling was admitted on trial for three weeks; but no eggs came.
						And the Tom Cat was master of the house, and the Hen was the lady, and they
						always said, "We and the world!" for they thought they were half the world,
						and by far the better half. The Duckling thought one might have a different
						opinion, but the Hen would not allow it.</p>
					<p>"Can you lay eggs?" she asked.</p>
					<p>"No."</p>
					<p>"Then you'll have the goodness to hold your tongue."</p>
					<p>And the Tom Cat said, "Can you curve your back, and purr, and give out
						sparks?"</p>
					<p>"No."</p>
					<p>"Then you cannot have any opinion of your own when sensible people are
						speaking."</p>
					<p>And the Duckling sat in a corner and was melancholy; then the fresh air and
						the sunshine streamed in; and it was seized with such a strange longing to
						swim on the water that it could not help telling the Hen of it.</p>
					<p>"What are you thinking of?" cried the Hen. "You have nothing to do; that's
						why you have these fancies. Purr or lay eggs, and they will pass over."</p>
					<p>"But it is so charming to swim on the water!" said the Duckling, "so
						refreshing to let it close above one's head, and to dive down to the
						bottom."</p>
					<p>"Yes, that must be a mighty pleasure, truly," quoth the Hen. "I fancy you
						must have gone crazy. Ask the Cat about it—he's the cleverest animal I
						know—ask him if he likes to swim on the water, or to dive down: I won't
						speak about myself. Ask our mistress, the old woman; no one in the world is
						cleverer than she. Do you think she has any desire to swim, and to let the
						water close above her head?"</p>
					<p>"You don't understand me," said the Duckling.</p>
					<p>"We don't understand you? Then pray who is to understand you? You surely
						don't pretend to be cleverer than the Tom Cat and the old woman—I won't say
						anything of myself. Don't be conceited, child, and be grateful for all the
						kindness you have received. Did <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="208"
							id="Page_208">208</span> you not get into a warm room, and have you not fallen
						into company from which you may learn something? But you are a chatterer,
						and it is not pleasant to associate with you. You may believe me, I speak
						for your good. I tell you disagreeable things, and by that one may always
						know one's true friends. Only take care that you learn to lay eggs, or to
						purr and give out sparks!"</p>
					<p>"I think I will go out into the wide world," said the Duckling.</p>
					<p>"Yes, do go," replied the Hen.</p>
					<p>And the Duckling went away. It swam on the water, and dived, but it was
						slighted by every creature because of its ugliness.</p>
					<p>Now came the autumn. The leaves in the forest turned yellow and brown; the
						wind caught them so that they danced about, and up in the air it was very
						cold. The clouds hung low, heavy with hail and snow-flakes, and on the fence
						stood the raven, crying, "Croak! croak!" for mere cold; yes, it was enough
						to make one feel cold to think of this. The poor little Duckling certainly
						had not a good time. One evening—the sun was just setting in his
						beauty—there came a whole flock of great handsome birds out of the bushes;
						they were dazzlingly white, with long flexible necks; they were swans. They
						uttered a very peculiar cry, spread forth their glorious great wings, and
						flew away from that cold region to warmer lands, to fair open lakes. They
						mounted so high, so high! and the ugly little Duckling felt quite strange as
						it watched them. It turned round and round in the water like a wheel,
						stretched out its neck toward them, and uttered such a strange loud cry as
						frightened itself. Oh! it could not forget those beautiful, happy birds; and
						so soon as it could see them no longer, it dived down to the very bottom,
						and when it came up again, it was quite beside itself. It knew not the name
						of those birds, and knew not whither they were flying; but it loved them
						more than it had ever loved anyone. It was not at all envious of them. How
						could it think of wishing to possess such loveliness as they had? It would
						have been glad if only the ducks would have endured its company—the poor
						ugly creature!</p>
					<p>And the winter grew cold, very cold! The Duckling was forced to swim about in
						the water, to prevent the surface from freezing entirely; but every night
						the hole in which it swam about became smaller and smaller. It froze so hard
						that the icy covering crackled again; and the Duckling was obliged to use
						its legs continually to prevent the hole from freezing up. At last it became
						exhausted, and lay quite still, and thus froze fast into the ice.</p>
					<p>Early in the morning a peasant came by, and when he saw what had happened, he
						took his wooden shoe, broke the ice-crust to pieces, and carried the
						Duckling home to his wife. Then it came to itself again. The children wanted
						to play with it; but the Duckling thought they would do it an injury, and in
						its terror fluttered up into the milk-pan, so that the milk spurted down
						into the room. The woman clapped her hands, at which the Duckling flew down
						into the butter-tub, and then into the meal-barrel and out again. How it
						looked then! The woman screamed, and struck at it with the fire-tongs; the
						children tumbled over one another in their efforts to catch the Duckling;
						and they laughed and screamed finely. Happily the door stood open, and the
						poor creature was able to slip out between the shrubs into the newly- <span
							epub:type="pagebreak" title="209" id="Page_209">209</span>fallen snow; and
						there it lay quite exhausted.</p>
					<p>But it would be too melancholy if I were to tell all the misery and care
						which the Duckling had to endure in the hard winter. It lay out on the moor
						among the reeds when the sun began to shine again and the larks to sing; it
						was a beautiful spring.</p>
					<p>Then all at once the Duckling could flap its wings; they beat the air more
						strongly than before, and bore it strongly away; and before it well knew how
						all this had happened, it found itself in a great garden, where the elder
						trees smelt sweet, and bent their long green branches down to the canal that
						wound through the region. Oh, here it was so beautiful, such a gladness of
						spring! and from the thicket came three glorious white swans; they rustled
						their wings, and swam lightly on the water. The Duckling knew the splendid
						creatures, and felt oppressed by a peculiar sadness.</p>
					<p>"I will fly away to them, to the royal birds! and they will kill me, because
						I, that am so ugly, dare to approach them. But it is of no consequence!
						Better to be killed by <em>them</em> than to be pursued by ducks, and beaten
						by fowls, and pushed about by the girl who takes care of the poultry-yard,
						and to suffer hunger in winter!" And it flew out into the water, and swam
						toward the beautiful swans: these looked at it, and came sailing down upon
						it with outspread wings. "Kill me!" said the poor creature, and bent its
						head down upon the water, expecting nothing but death. But what was this
						that it saw in the clear water? It beheld its own image—and, lo! it was no
						longer a clumsy dark-gray bird, ugly and hateful to look at, but—a swan.</p>
					<p>It matters nothing if one was born in a duck-yard, if one has only lain in a
						swan's egg.</p>
					<p>It felt quite glad at all the need and misfortune it had suffered, now it
						realized its happiness in all the splendor that surrounded it. And the great
						swans swam round it, and stroked it with their beaks.</p>
					<p>Into the garden came little children, who threw bread and corn into the
						water; the youngest cried, "There is a new one!" and the other children
						shouted joyously, "Yes, a new one has arrived!" And they clapped their hands
						and danced about, and ran to their father and mother; and bread and cake
						were thrown into the water; and they all said, "The new one is the most
						beautiful of all! so young and handsome!" and the old swans bowed their
						heads before him.</p>
					<p>Then he felt quite ashamed, and hid his head under his wing, for he did not
						know what to do; he was so happy, and yet not at all proud. He thought how
						he had been persecuted and despised; and now he heard them saying that he
						was the most beautiful of all the birds. Even the elder tree bent its
						branches straight down into the water before him, and the sun shone warm and
						mild. Then his wings rustled, he lifted his slender neck, and cried
						rejoicingly from the depths of his heart:</p>
					<p>"I never dreamed of so much happiness when I was still the Ugly
						Duckling!"</p>
				</section>
			</section>
			
			<section id="pgepubid00556">
				<h3>199</h3>
				<p class="intro">One of the really successful modern attempts at telling new fairy
					stories was <cite>Granny's Wonderful Chair</cite> (1857) by the blind poet Frances
					Browne (1816-1887). In spite of the obstacles due to blindness, poverty, and
					ill-health, she succeeded in educating herself, and after achieving some fame as
					a poet left her mountain village <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="210"
						id="Page_210">210</span> in county Donegal, Ireland, to make a literary career in
					Edinburgh and London. She published many volumes of poems, novels, and
					children's books. Only one of these is now much read or remembered, but it has
					taken a firm place in the affections of children. In <cite>Granny's Wonderful
						Chair</cite> there are seven stories, set in an interesting framework which
					tells of the adventures of the little girl Snowflower and her chair at the court
					of King Winwealth. This chair had magic power to transport Snowflower wherever
					she wished to go, like the magic carpet in the <cite>Arabian Nights</cite>. When she
					laid down her head and said, "Chair of my grandmother, tell me a story," a clear
					voice from under the cushion would at once begin to speak. Besides the story
					that follows, two of the most satisfactory in the collection are "The Greedy
					Shepherd" and "The Story of Merrymind." Perhaps one of the secrets of their
					charm is in the power of visualization which the author possessed. The pictures
					are all clear and definite, yet touched with the glamor of fairyland.</p>
				
				<section id="pgepubid00558">
					<h4>THE STORY OF FAIRYFOOT</h4>
					<div epub:type="z3998:author">FRANCES BROWNE</div>
					
					<p>Once upon a time there stood far away in the west country a town called
						Stumpinghame. It contained seven windmills, a royal palace, a market place,
						and a prison, with every other convenience befitting the capital of a
						kingdom. A capital city was Stumpinghame, and its inhabitants thought it the
						only one in the world. It stood in the midst of a great plain, which for
						three leagues round its walls was covered with corn, flax, and orchards.
						Beyond that lay a great circle of pasture land, seven leagues in breadth,
						and it was bounded on all sides by a forest so thick and old that no man in
						Stumpinghame knew its extent; and the opinion of the learned was that it
						reached to the end of the world.</p>
					<p>There were strong reasons for this opinion. First, that forest was known to
						be inhabited time out of mind by the fairies, and no hunter cared to go
						beyond its border—so all the west country believed it to be solidly full of
						old trees to the heart. Secondly, the people of Stumpinghame were no
						travelers—man, woman, and child had feet so large and heavy that it was by
						no means convenient to carry them far. Whether it was the nature of the
						place or the people, I cannot tell, but great feet had been the fashion
						there time immemorial, and the higher the family the larger were they. It
						was, therefore, the aim of everybody above the degree of shepherds, and
						such-like rustics, to swell out and enlarge their feet by way of gentility;
						and so successful were they in these undertakings that, on a pinch,
						respectable people's slippers would have served for panniers.</p>
					<p>Stumpinghame had a king of its own, and his name was Stiffstep; his family
						was very ancient and large-footed. His subjects called him Lord of the
						World, and he made a speech to them every year concerning the grandeur of
						his mighty empire. His queen, Hammerheel, was the greatest beauty in
						Stumpinghame. Her majesty's shoe was not much less than a fishing-boat;
						their six children promised to be quite as handsome, and all went well with
						them till the birth of their seventh son.</p>
					<p>For a long time nobody about the palace could understand what was the
						matter—the ladies-in-waiting looked so astonished, and the king so vexed;
						but at last it was whispered through the city that the queen's seventh child
						had been born with such miserably small feet that <span epub:type="pagebreak"
							title="211" id="Page_211">211</span> they resembled nothing ever seen or heard
						of in Stumpinghame, except the feet of the fairies.</p>
					<p>The chronicles furnished no example of such an affliction ever before
						happening in the royal family. The common people thought it portended some
						great calamity to the city; the learnèd men began to write books about it;
						and all the relations of the king and queen assembled at the palace to mourn
						with them over their singular misfortune. The whole court and most of the
						citizens helped in this mourning, but when it had lasted seven days they all
						found out it was of no use. So the relations went to their homes, and the
						people took to their work. If the learnèd men's books were written, nobody
						ever read them; and to cheer up the queen's spirits, the young prince was
						sent privately out to the pasture lands, to be nursed among the
						shepherds.</p>
					<p>The chief man there was called Fleecefold, and his wife's name was Rough
						Ruddy. They lived in a snug cottage with their son Blackthorn and their
						daughter Brownberry, and were thought great people, because they kept the
						king's sheep. Moreover, Fleecefold's family were known to be ancient; and
						Rough Ruddy boasted that she had the largest feet in all the pastures. The
						shepherds held them in high respect, and it grew still higher when the news
						spread that the king's seventh son had been sent to their cottage. People
						came from all quarters to see the young prince, and great were the
						lamentations over his misfortune in having such small feet.</p>
					<p>The king and queen had given him fourteen names, beginning with Augustus—such
						being the fashion in that royal family; but the honest country people could
						not remember so many; besides, his feet were the most remarkable thing about
						the child, so with one accord they called him Fairyfoot. At first it was
						feared this might be high treason, but when no notice was taken by the king
						or his ministers, the shepherds concluded it was no harm, and the boy never
						had another name throughout the pastures. At court it was not thought polite
						to speak of him at all. They did not keep his birthday, and he was never
						sent for at Christmas, because the queen and her ladies could not bear the
						sight. Once a year the undermost scullion was sent to see how he did, with a
						bundle of his next brother's cast-off clothes; and, as the king grew old and
						cross, it was said he had thoughts of disowning him.</p>
					<p>So Fairyfoot grew in Fleecefold's cottage. Perhaps the country air made him
						fair and rosy—for all agreed that he would have been a handsome boy but for
						his small feet, with which nevertheless he learned to walk, and in time to
						run and to jump, thereby amazing everybody, for such doings were not known
						among the children of Stumpinghame. The news of court, however, traveled to
						the shepherds, and Fairyfoot was despised among them. The old people thought
						him unlucky; the children refused to play with him. Fleecefold was ashamed
						to have him in his cottage, but he durst not disobey the king's orders.
						Moreover, Blackthorn wore most of the clothes brought by the scullion. At
						last, Rough Ruddy found out that the sight of such horrid jumping would make
						her children vulgar; and, as soon as he was old enough, she sent Fairyfoot
						every day to watch some sickly sheep that grazed on a wild, weedy pasture,
						hard by the forest. <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="212" id="Page_212"
						/></p>
					<p>Poor Fairyfoot was often lonely and sorrowful; many a time he wished his feet
						would grow larger, or that people wouldn't notice them so much; and all the
						comfort he had was running and jumping by himself in the wild pasture, and
						thinking that none of the shepherds' children could do the like, for all
						their pride of their great feet.</p>
					<p>Tired of this sport, he was lying in the shadow of a mossy rock one warm
						summer's noon, with the sheep feeding around, when a robin, pursued by a
						great hawk, flew into the old velvet cap which lay on the ground beside him.
						Fairyfoot covered it up, and the hawk, frightened by his shout, flew
						away.</p>
					<p>"Now you may go, poor robin!" he said, opening the cap: but instead of the
						bird, out sprang a little man dressed in russet-brown, and looking as if he
						were an hundred years old. Fairyfoot could not speak for astonishment, but
						the little man said—</p>
					<p>"Thank you for your shelter, and be sure I will do as much for you. Call on
						me if you are ever in trouble; my name is Robin Goodfellow"; and darting
						off, he was out of sight in an instant. For days the boy wondered who that
						little man could be, but he told nobody, for the little man's feet were as
						small as his own, and it was clear he would be no favorite in Stumpinghame.
						Fairyfoot kept the story to himself, and at last midsummer came. That
						evening was a feast among the shepherds. There were bonfires on the hills,
						and fun in the villages. But Fairyfoot sat alone beside his sheepfold, for
						the children of his village had refused to let him dance with them about the
						bonfire, and he had gone there to bewail the size of his feet, which came
						between him and so many good things. Fairyfoot had never felt so lonely in
						all his life, and remembering the little man, he plucked up spirit, and
						cried—</p>
					<p>"Ho! Robin Goodfellow!"</p>
					<p>"Here I am," said a shrill voice at his elbow; and there stood the little man
						himself.</p>
					<p>"I am very lonely, and no one will play with me, because my feet are not
						large enough," said Fairyfoot.</p>
					<p>"Come then and play with us," said the little man. "We lead the merriest
						lives in the world, and care for nobody's feet; but all companies have their
						own manners, and there are two things you must mind among us: first, do as
						you see the rest doing; and secondly, never speak of anything you may hear
						or see, for we and the people of this country have had no friendship ever
						since large feet came in fashion."</p>
					<p>"I will do that, and anything more you like," said Fairyfoot; and the little
						man, taking his hand, led him over the pasture into the forest and along a
						mossy path among old trees wreathed with ivy (he never knew how far), till
						they heard the sound of music and came upon a meadow where the moon shone as
						bright as day, and all the flowers of the year—snowdrops, violets,
						primroses, and cowslips—bloomed together in the thick grass. There were a
						crowd of little men and women, some clad in russet color, but far more in
						green, dancing round a little well as clear as crystal. And under great
						rose-trees which grew here and there in the meadow, companies were sitting
						round low tables covered with cups of milk, dishes of honey, and carved
						wooden flagons filled with clear red wine. The little man led Fairyfoot up
						to the nearest table, handed him one of the flagons, and said <span
							epub:type="pagebreak" title="213" id="Page_213">213</span>—</p>
					<p>"Drink to the good company."</p>
					<p>Wine was not very common among the shepherds of Stumpinghame, and the boy had
						never tasted such drink as that before; for scarcely had it gone down when
						he forgot all his troubles—how Blackthorn and Brownberry wore his clothes,
						how Rough Ruddy sent him to keep the sickly sheep, and the children would
						not dance with him: in short, he forgot the whole misfortune of his feet,
						and it seemed to his mind that he was a king's son, and all was well with
						him. All the little people about the well cried—"Welcome! welcome!" and
						every one said—"Come and dance with me!" So Fairyfoot was as happy as a
						prince, and drank milk and ate honey till the moon was low in the sky, and
						then the little man took him by the hand, and never stopped nor stayed till
						he was at his own bed of straw in the cottage corner.</p>
					<p>Next morning Fairyfoot was not tired for all his dancing. Nobody in the
						cottage had missed him, and he went out with the sheep as usual; but every
						night all that summer, when the shepherds were safe in bed, the little man
						came and took him away to dance in the forest. Now he did not care to play
						with the shepherds' children, nor grieve that his father and mother had
						forgotten him, but watched the sheep all day, singing to himself or plaiting
						rushes; and when the sun went down, Fairyfoot's heart rejoiced at the
						thought of meeting that merry company.</p>
					<p>The wonder was that he was never tired nor sleepy, as people are apt to be
						who dance all night; but before the summer was ended Fairyfoot found out the
						reason. One night, when the moon was full, and the last of the ripe corn
						rustling in the fields, Robin Goodfellow came for him as usual, and away
						they went to the flowery green. The fun there was high, and Robin was in
						haste. So he only pointed to the carved cup from which Fairyfoot every night
						drank the clear red wine.</p>
					<p>"I am not thirsty, and there is no use losing time," thought the boy to
						himself, and he joined the dance; but never in all his life did Fairyfoot
						find such hard work as to keep pace with the company. Their feet seemed to
						move like lightning, the swallows did not fly so fast or turn so quickly.
						Fairyfoot did his best, for he never gave in easily, but at length, his
						breath and strength being spent, the boy was glad to steal away and sit down
						behind a mossy oak, where his eyes closed for very weariness. When he awoke
						the dance was nearly over, but two little ladies clad in green talked close
						beside him.</p>
					<p>"What a beautiful boy!" said one of them. "He is worthy to be a king's son.
						Only see what handsome feet he has!"</p>
					<p>"Yes," said the other, with a laugh, that sounded spiteful; "they are just
						like the feet Princess Maybloom had before she washed them in the Growing
						Well. Her father has sent far and wide throughout the whole country
						searching for a doctor to make them small again, but nothing in this world
						can do it except the water of the Fair Fountain, and none but I and the
						nightingales know where it is."</p>
					<p>"One would not care to let the like be known," said the first little lady:
						"there would come such crowds of these great coarse creatures of mankind,
						nobody would have peace for leagues round. But you will surely send word to
						the sweet princess!—she was so kind to our birds and butterflies, and danced
						so like one of ourselves!" <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="214"
							id="Page_214">214</span></p>
					<p>"Not I, indeed!" said the spiteful fairy. "Her old skinflint of a father cut
						down the cedar which I loved best in the whole forest, and made a chest of
						it to hold his money in; besides, I never liked the princess—everybody
						praised her so. But come, we shall be too late for the last dance."</p>
					<p>When they were gone, Fairyfoot could sleep no more with astonishment. He did
						not wonder at the fairies admiring his feet, because their own were much the
						same; but it amazed him that Princess Maybloom's father should be troubled
						at hers growing large. Moreover, he wished to see that same princess and her
						country, since there were really other places in the world than
						Stumpinghame.</p>
					<p>When Robin Goodfellow came to take him home as usual he durst not let him
						know that he had overheard anything; but never was the boy so unwilling to
						get up as on that morning, and all day he was so weary that in the afternoon
						Fairyfoot fell asleep, with his head on a clump of rushes. It was seldom
						that any one thought of looking after him and the sickly sheep; but it so
						happened that towards evening the old shepherd, Fleecefold, thought he would
						see how things went on in the pastures. The shepherd had a bad temper and a
						thick staff, and no sooner did he catch sight of Fairyfoot sleeping, and his
						flock straying away, than shouting all the ill names he could remember, in a
						voice which woke up the boy, he ran after him as fast as his great feet
						would allow; while Fairyfoot, seeing no other shelter from his fury, fled
						into the forest, and never stopped nor stayed till he reached the banks of a
						little stream.</p>
					<p>Thinking it might lead him to the fairies' dancing-ground, he followed that
						stream for many an hour, but it wound away into the heart of the forest,
						flowing through dells, falling over mossy rocks, and at last leading
						Fairyfoot, when he was tired and the night had fallen, to a grove of great
						rose-trees, with the moon shining on it as bright as day, and thousands of
						nightingales singing in the branches. In the midst of that grove was a clear
						spring, bordered with banks of lilies, and Fairyfoot sat down by it to rest
						himself and listen. The singing was so sweet he could have listened for
						ever, but as he sat the nightingales left off their songs, and began to talk
						together in the silence of the night.</p>
					<p>"What boy is that," said one on a branch above him, "who sits so lonely by
						the Fair Fountain? He cannot have come from Stumpinghame with such small and
						handsome feet."</p>
					<p>"No, I'll warrant you," said another, "he has come from the west country. How
						in the world did he find the way?"</p>
					<p>"How simple you are!" said a third nightingale. "What had he to do but follow
						the ground-ivy which grows over height and hollow, bank and bush, from the
						lowest gate of the king's kitchen garden to the root of this rose-tree? He
						looks a wise boy, and I hope he will keep the secret, or we shall have all
						the west country here, dabbling in our fountain, and leaving us no rest to
						either talk or sing."</p>
					<p>Fairyfoot sat in great astonishment at this discourse, but by and by, when
						the talk ceased and the songs began, he thought it might be as well for him
						to follow the ground-ivy, and see the Princess Maybloom, not to speak of
						getting rid of Rough Ruddy, the sickly sheep, and the crusty old shepherd.
							It <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="215" id="Page_215">215</span> was a long
						journey; but he went on, eating wild berries by day, sleeping in the hollows
						of old trees by night, and never losing sight of the ground-ivy, which led
						him over height and hollow, bank and bush, out of the forest, and along a
						noble high road, with fields and villages on every side, to a great city,
						and a low old-fashioned gate of the king's kitchen-garden, which was thought
						too mean for the scullions, and had not been opened for seven years.</p>
					<p>There was no use knocking—the gate was overgrown with tall weeds and moss;
						so, being an active boy, he climbed over, and walked through the garden,
						till a white fawn came frisking by, and he heard a soft voice saying
						sorrowfully—</p>
					<p>"Come back, come back, my fawn! I cannot run and play with you now, my feet
						have grown so heavy"; and looking round he saw the loveliest young princess
						in the world, dressed in snow-white, and wearing a wreath of roses on her
						golden hair; but walking slowly, as the great people did in Stumpinghame,
						for her feet were as large as the best of them.</p>
					<p>After her came six young ladies, dressed in white and walking slowly, for
						they could not go before the princess; but Fairyfoot was amazed to see that
						their feet were as small as his own. At once he guessed that this must be
						the Princess Maybloom, and made her an humble bow, saying—</p>
					<p>"Royal princess, I have heard of your trouble because your feet have grown
						large; in my country that's all the fashion. For seven years past I have
						been wondering what would make mine grow, to no purpose; but I know of a
						certain fountain that will make yours smaller and finer than ever they were,
						if the king, your father, gives you leave to come with me, accompanied by
						two of your maids that are the least given to talking, and the most prudent
						officer in all his household; for it would grievously offend the fairies and
						the nightingales to make that fountain known."</p>
					<p>When the princess heard that, she danced for joy in spite of her large feet,
						and she and her six maids brought Fairyfoot before the king and queen, where
						they sat in their palace hall, with all the courtiers paying their morning
						compliments. The lords were very much astonished to see a ragged,
						bare-footed boy brought in among them, and the ladies thought Princess
						Maybloom must have gone mad; but Fairyfoot, making an humble reverence, told
						his message to the king and queen, and offered to set out with the princess
						that very day. At first the king would not believe that there could be any
						use in his offer, because so many great physicians had failed to give any
						relief. The courtiers laughed Fairyfoot to scorn, the pages wanted to turn
						him out for an impudent impostor, and the prime minister said he ought to be
						put to death for high treason.</p>
					<p>Fairyfoot wished himself safe in the forest again, or even keeping the sickly
						sheep; but the queen, being a prudent woman, said—</p>
					<p>"I pray your majesty to notice what fine feet this boy has. There may be some
						truth in his story. For the sake of our only daughter, I will choose two
						maids who talk the least of all our train, and my chamberlain, who is the
						most discreet officer in our household. Let them go with the princess; who
						knows but our sorrow may be lessened?"</p>
					<p>After some persuasion the king consented, though all his councillors
							advised <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="216" id="Page_216">216</span> the
						contrary. So the two silent maids, the discreet chamberlain, and her fawn,
						which would not stay behind, were sent with Princess Maybloom, and they all
						set out after dinner. Fairyfoot had hard work guiding them along the track
						of the ground-ivy. The maids and the chamberlain did not like the brambles
						and rough roots of the forest—they thought it hard to eat berries and sleep
						in hollow trees; but the princess went on with good courage, and at last
						they reached the grove of rose-trees, and the spring bordered with
						lilies.</p>
					<p>The chamberlain washed—and though his hair had been grey, and his face
						wrinkled, the young courtiers envied his beauty for years after. The maids
						washed—and from that day they were esteemed the fairest in all the palace.
						Lastly, the princess washed also—it could make her no fairer, but the moment
						her feet touched the water they grew less, and when she had washed and dried
						them three times, they were as small and finely-shaped as Fairyfoot's own.
						There was great joy among them, but the boy said sorrowfully—</p>
					<p>"Oh! if there had been a well in the world to make my feet large, my father
						and mother would not have cast me off, nor sent me to live among the
						shepherds."</p>
					<p>"Cheer up your heart," said the Princess Maybloom; "if you want large feet,
						there is a well in this forest that will do it. Last summer time I came with
						my father and his foresters to see a great cedar cut down, of which he meant
						to make a money chest. While they were busy with the cedar, I saw a bramble
						branch covered with berries. Some were ripe and some were green, but it was
						the longest bramble that ever grew; for the sake of the berries, I went on
						and on to its root, which grew hard by a muddy-looking well, with banks of
						dark green moss, in the deepest part of the forest. The day was warm and dry
						and my feet were sore with the rough ground, so I took off my scarlet shoes
						and washed my feet in the well; but as I washed they grew larger every
						minute, and nothing could ever make them less again. I have seen the bramble
						this day; it is not far off, and as you have shown me the Fair Fountain, I
						will show you the Growing Well."</p>
					<p>Up rose Fairyfoot and Princess Maybloom, and went together till they found
						the bramble, and came to where its root grew, hard by the muddy-looking
						well, with banks of dark green moss in the deepest dell of the forest.
						Fairyfoot sat down to wash, but at that minute he heard a sound of music,
						and knew it was the fairies going to their dancing ground.</p>
					<p>"If my feet grow large," said the boy to himself, "how shall I dance with
						them?" So, rising quickly, he took the Princess Maybloom by the hand. The
						fawn followed them; the maids and the chamberlain followed it, and all
						followed the music through the forest. At last they came to the flowery
						green. Robin Goodfellow welcomed the company for Fairyfoot's sake, and gave
						every one a drink of the fairies' wine. So they danced there from sunset
						till the grey morning, and nobody was tired; but before the lark sang, Robin
						Goodfellow took them all safe home, as he used to take Fairyfoot.</p>
					<p>There was great joy that day in the palace because Princess Maybloom's feet
						were made small again. The king gave Fairyfoot all manner of fine clothes
						and rich jewels; and when they heard his wonderful story, he and the queen
							asked <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="217" id="Page_217">217</span> him to live
						with them and be their son. In process of time Fairyfoot and Princess
						Maybloom were married, and still live happily. When they go to visit at
						Stumpinghame, they always wash their feet in the Growing Well, lest the
						royal family might think them a disgrace, but when they come back, they make
						haste to the Fair Fountain; and the fairies and the nightingales are great
						friends to them, as well as the maids and the chamberlain, because they have
						told nobody about it, and there is peace and quiet yet in the grove of
						rose-trees.</p>
				</section>
			</section>
			
			<section id="pgepubid00566">
				<h3>200</h3>
				<p class="intro">The ill-fated Oscar Wilde (1856-1900) was born in Ireland, was
					educated at Oxford, came into great notoriety as the reputed leader of the
					"aesthetic movement," was prominent in the London literary world from 1885 to
					1895, fell under the obloquy of most of his countrymen, and died in distressing
					circumstances in Paris. In addition to some remarkable plays, poems, and prose
					books, he wrote a number of unusual stories especially fascinating to children,
					which were collected under the title <cite>The Happy Prince, and Other Tales</cite>.
					These stories were at once recognized as classic in quality. While they contain
					much implied criticism of certain features of modern civilization, the whole
					tone is so idealistic and the workmanship so fine that they convey no strong
					note of bitterness to the child. "The Happy Prince" suggests that Wilde saw on
					the one hand "the white faces of starving children looking out listlessly at the
					black streets"; while on the other hand he saw the Pyramids, marble angels
					sculptured on the cathedral tower, and the gold-covered statue of the Prince of
					the Palace of the Care-Free. Wilde also suggests a remedy for the starvation and
					wretchedness that exist, especially among children, in most cities where great
					wealth is displayed. The important thing in presenting this story to children is
					to get the full sympathetic response due to the sacrifice made by the Happy
					Prince and the little swallow. So much of the effect depends upon the wonderful
					beauty of the language that teachers will, as a rule, get better results from
					reading or reciting than from any kind of oral paraphrase. Another story in this
					same volume widely and successfully used by teachers is the one called "The
					Selfish Giant."</p>
				
				<section>
					<h4 id="pgepubid00567">THE HAPPY PRINCE</h4>
					<div epub:type="z3998:author">OSCAR WILDE</div>
					
					<p>High above the city, on a tall column, stood the statue of the Happy Prince.
						He was gilded all over with thin leaves of fine gold, for eyes he had two
						bright sapphires, and a large red ruby glowed on his sword-hilt.</p>
					<p>He was very much admired indeed. "He is as beautiful as a weathercock,"
						remarked one of the Town Councillors who wished to gain a reputation for
						having artistic tastes; "only not quite so useful," he added, fearing lest
						people should think him unpractical, which he really was not.</p>
					<p>"Why can't you be like the Happy Prince?" asked a sensible mother of her
						little boy who was crying for the moon. "The Happy Prince never dreams of
						crying for anything."</p>
					<p>"I am glad there is some one in the world who is quite happy," muttered a
						disappointed man as he gazed at the wonderful statue.</p>
					<p>"He looks just like an angel," said the Charity Children as they came out of
						the cathedral in their bright scarlet cloaks and their clean white
						pinafores.</p>
					<p>"How do you know?" said the Mathematical Master; "you have never seen
							one." <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="218" id="Page_218">218</span></p>
					<p>"Ah! but we have, in our dreams," answered the children; and the Mathematical
						Master frowned and looked very severe, for he did not approve of children
						dreaming.</p>
					<p>One night there flew over the city a Little Swallow. His friends had gone
						away to Egypt six weeks before, but he had stayed behind, for he was in love
						with the most beautiful Reed. He had met her early in the spring as he was
						flying down the river after a big yellow moth, and had been so attracted by
						her slender waist that he had stopped to talk to her.</p>
					<p>"Shall I love you?" said the Swallow, who liked to come to the point at once,
						and the Reed made him a low bow. So he flew round and round her, touching
						the water with his wings, and making silver ripples. This was his courtship,
						and it lasted all through the summer.</p>
					<p>"It is a ridiculous attachment," twittered the other Swallows; "she has no
						money, and far too many relations"; and indeed the river was quite full of
						Reeds. Then when the autumn came they all flew away.</p>
					<p>After they had gone he felt lonely, and began to tire of his lady-love. "She
						has no conversation," he said, "and I am afraid that she is a coquette, for
						she is always flirting with the wind." And certainly, whenever the wind
						blew, the Reed made the most graceful curtseys. "I admit that she is
						domestic," he continued, "but I love traveling, and my wife, consequently,
						should love traveling also."</p>
					<p>"Will you come away with me?" he said finally to her; but the Reed shook her
						head, she was so attached to her home.</p>
					<p>"You have been trifling with me," he cried. "I am off to the Pyramids.
						Good-bye!" and he flew away.</p>
					<p>All day long he flew, and at night-time he arrived at the city. "Where shall
						I put up?" he said; "I hope the town has made preparations."</p>
					<p>Then he saw the statue on the tall column.</p>
					<p>"I will put up there," he cried; "it is a fine position, with plenty of fresh
						air." So he alighted just between the feet of the Happy Prince.</p>
					<p>"I have a golden bedroom," he said softly to himself as he looked round, and
						he prepared to go to sleep; but just as he was putting his head under his
						wing a large drop of water fell on him. "What a curious thing!" he cried;
						"there is not a single cloud in the sky, the stars are quite clear and
						bright, and yet it is raining. The climate in the north of Europe is really
						dreadful. The Reed used to like the rain, but that was merely her
						selfishness."</p>
					<p>Then another drop fell.</p>
					<p>"What is the use of a statue if it cannot keep the rain off?" he said; "I
						must look for a good chimney-pot," and he determined to fly away.</p>
					<p>But before he had opened his wings, a third drop fell, and he looked up, and
						saw—Ah! what did he see?</p>
					<p>The eyes of the Happy Prince were filled with tears, and tears were running
						down his golden cheeks. His face was so beautiful in the moonlight that the
						little Swallow was filled with pity.</p>
					<p>"Who are you?" he said.</p>
					<p>"I am the Happy Prince."</p>
					<p>"Why are you weeping then?" asked the Swallow; "you have quite drenched
						me."</p>
					<p>"When I was alive and had a human heart," answered the statue, "I did not
						know what tears were, for I lived in the Palace of Sans-Souci, where sorrow
						is not allowed to enter. In the daytime I <span epub:type="pagebreak"
							title="219" id="Page_219">219</span> played with my companions in the garden,
						and in the evening I led the dance in the Great Hall. Round the garden ran a
						very lofty wall, but I never cared to ask what lay beyond it, everything
						about me was so beautiful. My courtiers called me the Happy Prince, and
						happy indeed I was, if pleasure be happiness. So I lived, and so I died. And
						now that I am dead they have set me up here so high that I can see all the
						ugliness and all the misery of my city, and though my heart is made of lead
						yet I cannot choose but weep."</p>
					<p>"What! is he not solid gold?" said the Swallow to himself. He was too polite
						to make any personal remarks out loud.</p>
					<p>"Far away," continued the statue in a low musical voice, "far away in a
						little street there is a poor house. One of the windows is open, and through
						it I can see a woman seated at a table. Her face is thin and worn, and she
						has coarse, red hands, all pricked by the needle, for she is a seamstress.
						She is embroidering passion-flowers on a satin gown for the loveliest of the
						Queen's maids-of-honor to wear at the next Court-ball. In a bed in the
						corner of the room her little boy is lying ill. He has a fever, and is
						asking for oranges. His mother has nothing to give him but river water, so
						he is crying. Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow, will you not take her the
						ruby out of my sword-hilt? My feet are fastened to this pedestal and I
						cannot move."</p>
					<p>"I am waited for in Egypt," said the Swallow. "My friends are flying up and
						down the Nile, and talking to the large lotus-flowers. Soon they will go to
						sleep in the tomb of the great King. The King is there himself in his
						painted coffin. He is wrapped in yellow linen, and embalmed with spices.
						Round his neck is a chain of pale green jade, and his hands are like
						withered leaves."</p>
					<p>"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "will you not stay with
						me for one night, and be my messenger? The boy is so thirsty, and the mother
						so sad."</p>
					<p>"I don't think I like boys," answered the Swallow. "Last summer, when I was
						staying on the river, there were two rude boys, the miller's sons, who were
						always throwing stones at me. They never hit me, of course; we swallows fly
						far too well for that, and besides, I come of a family famous for its
						agility; but still, it was a mark of disrespect."</p>
					<p>But the Happy Prince looked so sad that the little Swallow was sorry. "It is
						very cold here," he said; "but I will stay with you for one night, and be
						your messenger."</p>
					<p>"Thank you, little Swallow," said the Prince.</p>
					<p>So the Swallow picked out the great ruby from the Prince's sword, and flew
						away with it in his beak over the roofs of the town.</p>
					<p>He passed by the cathedral tower, where the white marble angels were
						sculptured. He passed by the palace and heard the sound of dancing. A
						beautiful girl came out on the balcony with her lover. "How wonderful the
						stars are," he said to her, "and how wonderful is the power of love!"</p>
					<p>"I hope my dress will be ready in time for the State-ball," she answered; "I
						have ordered passion-flowers to be embroidered on it; but the seamstresses
						are so lazy."</p>
					<p>He passed over the river, and saw the lanterns hanging to the masts of the
						ships. He passed over the Ghetto, and saw the old Jews bargaining with
							each <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="220" id="Page_220">220</span> other, and
						weighing out money in copper scales. At last he came to the poor house and
						looked in. The boy was tossing feverishly on his bed, and the mother had
						fallen asleep, she was so tired. In he hopped, and laid the great ruby on
						the table beside the woman's thimble. Then he flew gently round the bed,
						fanning the boy's forehead with his wings. "How cool I feel," said the boy.
						"I must be getting better"; and he sank into a delicious slumber.</p>
					<p>Then the Swallow flew back to the Happy Prince, and told him what he had
						done. "It is curious," he remarked, "but I feel quite warm now, although it
						is so cold."</p>
					<p>"That is because you have done a good action," said the Prince. And the
						little Swallow began to think, and then he fell asleep. Thinking always made
						him sleepy.</p>
					<p>When day broke he flew down to the river and had a bath. "What a remarkable
						phenomenon," said the Professor of Ornithology as he was passing over the
						bridge. "A swallow in winter!" And he wrote a long letter about it to the
						local newspaper. Every one quoted it, it was full of so many words that they
						could not understand.</p>
					<p>"To-night I go to Egypt," said the Swallow, and he was in high spirits at the
						prospect. He visited all the public monuments, and sat a long time on top of
						the church steeple. Wherever he went the Sparrows chirruped, and said to
						each other, "What a distinguished stranger!" so he enjoyed himself very
						much.</p>
					<p>When the moon rose he flew back to the Happy Prince. "Have you any
						commissions for Egypt?" he cried; "I am just starting."</p>
					<p>"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "will you not stay with
						me one night longer?"</p>
					<p>"I am waited for in Egypt," answered the Swallow. "To-morrow my friends will
						fly up to the Second Cataract. The river-horse couches there among the
						bulrushes, and on a great granite throne sits the God Memnon. All night long
						he watches the stars, and when the morning star shines he utters one cry of
						joy, and then he is silent. At noon the yellow lions come down to the
						water's edge to drink. They have eyes like green beryls, and their roar is
						louder than the roar of the cataract."</p>
					<p>"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "far away across the
						city I see a young man in a garret. He is leaning over a desk covered with
						papers, and in a tumbler by his side there is a bunch of withered violets.
						His hair is brown and crisp, and his lips are red as a pomegranate, and he
						has large and dreamy eyes. He is trying to finish a play for the Director of
						the Theatre, but he is too cold to write any more. There is no fire in the
						grate, and hunger has made him faint."</p>
					<p>"I will wait with you one night longer," said the Swallow, who really had a
						good heart. "Shall I take him another ruby?"</p>
					<p>"Alas! I have no ruby now," said the Prince; "my eyes are all that I have
						left. They are made of rare sapphires, which were brought out of India a
						thousand years ago. Pluck out one of them and take it to him. He will sell
						it to the jeweller, and buy food and firewood, and finish his play."</p>
					<p>"Dear Prince," said the Swallow, "I cannot do that"; and he began to
						weep.</p>
					<p>"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "do as I command
						you."</p>
					<p>So the Swallow plucked out the <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="221"
							id="Page_221">221</span> Prince's eye, and flew away to the student's garret.
						It was easy enough to get in, as there was a hole in the roof. Through this
						he darted, and came into the room. The young man had his head buried in his
						hands, so he did not hear the flutter of the bird's wings, and when he
						looked up he found the beautiful sapphire lying on the withered violets.</p>
					<p>"I am beginning to be appreciated," he cried; "this is from some great
						admirer. Now I can finish my play," and he looked quite happy.</p>
					<p>The next day the Swallow flew down to the harbor. He sat on the mast of a
						large vessel and watched the sailors hauling big chests out of the hold with
						ropes. "Heave a-hoy!" they shouted as each chest came up. "I am going to
						Egypt!" cried the Swallow, but nobody minded, and when the moon rose he flew
						back to the Happy Prince.</p>
					<p>"I am come to bid you good-bye," he cried.</p>
					<p>"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "will you not stay with
						me one night longer?"</p>
					<p>"It is winter," answered the Swallow, "and the chill snow will soon be here.
						In Egypt the sun is warm on the green palm-trees, and the crocodiles lie in
						the mud and look lazily about them. My companions are building a nest in the
						Temple of Baalbec, and the pink and white doves are watching them, and
						cooing to each other. Dear Prince, I must leave you, but I will never forget
						you, and next spring I will bring you back two beautiful jewels in place of
						those you have given away. The ruby shall be redder than a red rose, and the
						sapphire shall be as blue as the great sea."</p>
					<p>"In the square below," said the Happy Prince, "there stands a little
						match-girl. She has let her matches fall in the gutter, and they are all
						spoiled. Her father will beat her if she does not bring home some money, and
						she is crying. She has no shoes or stockings, and her little head is bare.
						Pluck out my other eye, and give it to her, and her father will not beat
						her."</p>
					<p>"I will stay with you one night longer," said the Swallow, "but I cannot
						pluck out your eye. You would be quite blind then."</p>
					<p>"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "do as I command
						you."</p>
					<p>So he plucked out the Prince's other eye, and darted down with it. He swooped
						past the match-girl, and slipped the jewel into the palm of her hand. "What
						a lovely bit of glass," cried the little girl; and she ran home,
						laughing.</p>
					<p>Then the Swallow came back to the Prince. "You are blind now," he said, "so I
						will stay with you always."</p>
					<p>"No, little Swallow," said the poor Prince, "you must go away to Egypt."</p>
					<p>"I will stay with you always," said the Swallow, and he slept at the Prince's
						feet.</p>
					<p>All the next day he sat on the Prince's shoulder, and told him stories of
						what he had seen in strange lands. He told him of the red ibises, who stand
						in long rows on the banks of the Nile, and catch goldfish in their beaks; of
						the Sphinx, who is as old as the world itself, and lives in the desert, and
						knows everything; of the merchants, who walk slowly by the side of their
						camels, and carry amber beads in their hands; of the King of the Mountains
						of the Moon, who is as black as ebony, and worships a large crystal; of the
						great green snake that sleeps in a palm-tree, and has twenty priests to feed
						it with honey-cakes; and of the pygmies who sail over a big lake on large
							flat <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="222" id="Page_222">222</span> leaves, and
						are always at war with the butterflies.</p>
					<p>"Dear little Swallow," said the Prince, "you tell me of marvelous things, but
						more marvelous than anything is the suffering of men and of women. There is
						no Mystery so great as Misery. Fly over my city, little Swallow, and tell me
						what you see there."</p>
					<p>So the Swallow flew over the great city, and saw the rich making merry in
						their beautiful houses, while the beggars were sitting at the gates. He flew
						into dark lanes, and saw the white faces of starving children looking out
						listlessly at the black streets. Under the archway of a bridge two little
						boys were lying in one another's arms to try to keep themselves warm. "How
						hungry we are!" they said. "You must not lie here," shouted the Watchman,
						and they wandered out into the rain.</p>
					<p>Then he flew back and told the Prince what he had seen.</p>
					<p>"I am covered with fine gold," said the Prince; "you must take it off, leaf
						by leaf, and give it to my poor; the living always think that gold can make
						them happy."</p>
					<p>Leaf after leaf of the fine gold the Swallow picked off, till the Happy
						Prince looked quite dull and grey. Leaf after leaf of the fine gold he
						brought to the poor, and the children's faces grew rosier, and they laughed
						and played games in the street. "We have bread now!" they cried.</p>
					<p>Then the snow came, and after the snow came the frost. The streets looked as
						if they were made of silver, they were so bright and glistening; long
						icicles like crystal daggers hung down from the eaves of the houses,
						everybody went about in furs, and the little boys wore scarlet caps and
						skated on the ice.</p>
					<p>The poor little Swallow grew colder and colder, but he would not leave the
						Prince; he loved him too well. He picked up crumbs outside the baker's door
						when the baker was not looking, and tried to keep himself warm by flapping
						his wings.</p>
					<p>But at last he knew that he was going to die. He had just strength to fly up
						to the Prince's shoulder once more. "Good-bye, dear Prince!" he murmured,
						"will you let me kiss your hand?"</p>
					<p>"I am glad that you are going to Egypt at last, little Swallow," said the
						Prince. "You have stayed too long here; but you must kiss me on the lips,
						for I love you."</p>
					<p>"It is not to Egypt that I am going," said the Swallow. "I am going to the
						House of Death. Death is the brother of Sleep, is he not?"</p>
					<p>And he kissed the Happy Prince on the lips, and fell down dead at his
						feet.</p>
					<p>At that moment a curious crack sounded inside the statue, as if something had
						suddenly broken. The fact is that the leaden heart had snapped right in two.
						It certainly was a dreadfully hard frost.</p>
					<p>Early the next morning the Mayor was walking in the square below in company
						with the Town Councillors. As they passed the column he looked up at the
						statue: "Dear me! how shabby the Happy Prince looks!" he said.</p>
					<p>"How shabby indeed!" cried the Town Councillors, who always agreed with the
						Mayor; and they went up to look at it.</p>
					<p>"The ruby has fallen out of his sword, his eyes are gone, and he is golden no
						longer," said the Mayor; "in fact, he is little better than a beggar!"</p>
					<p>"Little better than a beggar," said the Town Councillors.</p>
					<p>"And here is actually a dead bird at his feet!" continued the Mayor. "We <span
							epub:type="pagebreak" title="223" id="Page_223">223</span> must really issue a
						proclamation that birds are not to be allowed to die here." And the Town
						Clerk made a note of the suggestion.</p>
					<p>So they pulled down the statue of the Happy Prince. "As he is no longer
						beautiful he is no longer useful," said the Art Professor at the
						University.</p>
					<p>Then they melted the statue in a furnace, and the Mayor held a meeting of the
						Corporation to decide what was to be done with the metal. "We must have
						another statue, of course," he said, "and it shall be a statue of
						myself."</p>
					<p>"Of myself," said each of the Town Councillors, and they quarrelled. When I
						last heard of them they were quarreling still.</p>
					<p>"What a strange thing!" said the overseer of the workmen at the foundry.
						"This broken lead heart will not melt in the furnace. We must throw it
						away." So they threw it on a dustheap where the dead Swallow was also
						lying.</p>
					<p>"Bring me the two most precious things in the city," said God to one of His
						Angels; and the Angel brought Him the leaden heart and the dead bird.</p>
					<p>"You have rightly chosen," said God, "for in my garden of Paradise this
						little bird shall sing for evermore, and in my city of gold the Happy Prince
						shall praise me."</p>
				</section>
			</section>
			
			<section id="pgepubid00574">
				<h3>201</h3>
				
				<p class="intro">Two stories of unusual interest and charm for children are found
					in the collection of eleven by Raymond M. Alden (1873—), <cite>Why the Chimes
						Rang</cite>. One is the title story of the volume; the other is "The Knights of
					the Silver Shield." The latter follows by permission of the publishers, The
					Bobbs-Merrill Co., Indianapolis. (Copyright, 1906, 1908.) It is of striking
					dramatic interest and emphasizes a much-needed quality of character, the
					importance of a loyal performance of the lowlier duties of life. The salvation
					of a nation may depend upon the humble guardian of the gate quite as much as
					upon those who are engaged in the more spectacular struggle with giants. Mr.
					Alden is a scholarly professor of literature in Leland Stanford Jr. University,
					and it may interest the reader to know that he is the son of the author of the
						<cite>Pansy Books</cite>, a type of religious or Sunday-school fiction widely read
					throughout the country by a generation or two of young people.</p>
				
				<section id="pgepubid00575">
					<h4>THE KNIGHTS OF THE SILVER SHIELD</h4>
					<div epub:type="z3998:author">RAYMOND MACDONALD ALDEN</div>
					
					<p>There was once a splendid castle in a forest, with great stone walls and a
						high gateway, and turrets that rose away above the tallest trees. The forest
						was dark and dangerous, and many cruel giants lived in it; but in the castle
						was a company of knights, who were kept there by the king of the country, to
						help travelers who might be in the forest and to fight with the giants
						whenever they could.</p>
					<p>Each of these knights wore a beautiful suit of armor and carried a long
						spear, while over his helmet there floated a great red plume that could be
						seen a long way off by any one in distress. But the most wonderful thing
						about the knights' armor was their shields. They were not like those of
						other knights, but had been made by a great magician who had lived in the
						castle many years before. They were made of silver, and sometimes shone in
						the sunlight with dazzling brightness; but at other times the surface of the
						shields would be clouded as though by a mist, and one could not see his
							face <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="224" id="Page_224">224</span> reflected
						there as he could when they shone brightly.</p>
					<p>Now, when each young knight received his spurs and his armor, a new shield
						was also given him from among those that the magician had made; and when the
						shield was new its surface was always cloudy and dull. But as the knight
						began to do service against the giants, or went on expeditions to help poor
						travelers in the forest, his shield grew brighter and brighter, so that he
						could see his face clearly reflected in it. But if he proved to be a lazy or
						cowardly knight, and let the giants get the better of him, or did not care
						what became of the travelers, then the shield grew more and more cloudy,
						until the knight became ashamed to carry it.</p>
					<p>But this was not all. When any one of the knights fought a particularly hard
						battle, and won the victory, or when he went on some hard errand for the
						lord of the castle, and was successful, not only did his silver shield grow
						brighter, but when one looked into the center of it he could see something
						like a golden star shining in its very heart. This was the greatest honor
						that a knight could achieve, and the other knights always spoke of such a
						one as having "won his star." It was usually not till he was pretty old and
						tried as a soldier that he could win it. At the time when this story begins,
						the lord of the castle himself was the only one of the knights whose shield
						bore the golden star.</p>
					<p>There came a time when the worst of the giants in the forest gathered
						themselves together to have a battle against the knights. They made a camp
						in a dark hollow not far from the castle, and gathered all their best
						warriors together, and all the knights made ready to fight them. The windows
						of the castle were closed and barred; the air was full of the noise of armor
						being made ready for use; and the knights were so excited that they could
						scarcely rest or eat.</p>
					<p>Now there was a young knight in the castle, named Sir Roland, who was among
						those most eager for the battle. He was a splendid warrior, with eyes that
						shone like stars whenever there was anything to do in the way of knightly
						deeds. And although he was still quite young, his shield had begun to shine
						enough to show plainly that he had done bravely in some of his errands
						through the forest. This battle, he thought, would be the great opportunity
						of his life. And on the morning of the day when they were to go forth to it,
						and all the knights assembled in the great hall of the castle to receive the
						commands of their leaders, Sir Roland hoped that he would be put in the most
						dangerous place of all, so that he could show what knightly stuff he was
						made of.</p>
					<p>But when the lord of the castle came to him, as he went about in full armor
						giving his commands, he said: "One brave knight must stay behind and guard
						the gateway of the castle, and it is you, Sir Roland, being one of the
						youngest, whom I have chosen for this."</p>
					<p>At these words Sir Roland was so disappointed that he bit his lip and closed
						his helmet over his face so that the other knights might not see it. For a
						moment he felt as if he must reply angrily to the commander and tell him
						that it was not right to leave so sturdy a knight behind when he was eager
						to fight. But he struggled against this feeling and went quietly to look
						after his duties at the gate. The gateway was high and narrow, and was
						reached from outside by a high, narrow bridge that crossed the moat, which <span
							epub:type="pagebreak" title="225" id="Page_225">225</span> surrounded the
						castle on every side. When an enemy approached, the knight on guard rang a
						great bell just inside the gate, and the bridge was drawn up against the
						castle wall, so that no one could come across the moat. So the giants had
						long ago given up trying to attack the castle itself.</p>
					<p>To-day the battle was to be in the dark hollow in the forest, and it was not
						likely that there would be anything to do at the castle gate, except to
						watch it like a common doorkeeper. It was not strange that Sir Roland
						thought some one else might have done this.</p>
					<p>Presently all the other knights marched out in their flashing armor, their
						red plumes waving over their heads, and their spears in their hands. The
						lord of the castle stopped only to tell Sir Roland to keep guard over the
						gate until they had all returned and to let no one enter. Then they went
						into the shadows of the forest and were soon lost to sight.</p>
					<p>Sir Roland stood looking after them long after they had gone, thinking how
						happy he would be if he were on the way to battle like them. But after a
						little he put this out of his mind and tried to think of pleasanter things.
						It was a long time before anything happened, or any word came from the
						battle.</p>
					<p>At last Sir Roland saw one of the knights come limping down the path to the
						castle, and he went out on the bridge to meet him. Now this knight was not a
						brave one, and he had been frightened away as soon as he was wounded.</p>
					<p>"I have been hurt," he said, "so that I can not fight any more. But I could
						watch the gate for you, if you would like to go back in my place."</p>
					<p>At first Sir Roland's heart leaped with joy at this, but then he remembered
						what the commander had told him on going away, and he said:</p>
					<p>"I should like to go, but a knight belongs where his commander has put him.
						My place is here at the gate, and I can not open it even for you. Your place
						is at the battle."</p>
					<p>The knight was ashamed when he heard this, and he presently turned about and
						went into the forest again.</p>
					<p>So Sir Roland kept guard silently for another hour. Then there came an old
						beggar woman down the path to the castle and asked Sir Roland if she might
						come in and have some food. He told her that no one could enter the castle
						that day, but that he would send a servant out to her with food, and that
						she might sit and rest as long as she would.</p>
					<p>"I have been past the hollow in the forest where the battle is going on,"
						said the old woman, while she was waiting for her food.</p>
					<p>"And how do you think it is going?" asked Sir Roland.</p>
					<p>"Badly for the knights, I am afraid," said the old woman. "The giants are
						fighting as they have never fought before. I should think you had better go
						and help your friends."</p>
					<p>"I should like to, indeed," said Sir Roland. "But I am set to guard the
						gateway of the castle and can not leave."</p>
					<p>"One fresh knight would make a great difference when they are all weary with
						fighting," said the old woman. "I should think that, while there are no
						enemies about, you would be much more useful there."</p>
					<p>"You may well think so," said Sir Roland, "and so may I; but it is neither
						you nor I that is commander here."</p>
					<p>"I suppose," said the old woman then, "that you are one of the kind of <span
							epub:type="pagebreak" title="226" id="Page_226">226</span> knights who like to
						keep out of fighting. You are lucky to have so good an excuse for staying at
						home." And she laughed a thin and taunting laugh.</p>
					<p>Then Sir Roland was very angry, and thought that if it were only a man
						instead of a woman, he would show him whether he liked fighting or no. But
						as it was a woman, he shut his lips and set his teeth hard together, and as
						the servant came just then with the food he had sent for, he gave it to the
						old woman quickly and shut the gate that she might not talk to him any
						more.</p>
					<p>It was not very long before he heard some one calling outside. Sir Roland
						opened the gate and saw standing at the other end of the drawbridge a little
						old man in a long black cloak. "Why are you knocking here?" he said. "The
						castle is closed to-day."</p>
					<p>"Are you Sir Roland?" said the little old man.</p>
					<p>"Yes," said Sir Roland.</p>
					<p>"Then you ought not to be staying here when your commander and his knights
						are having so hard a struggle with the giants, and when you have the chance
						to make of yourself the greatest knight in this kingdom. Listen to me! I
						have brought you a magic sword."</p>
					<p>As he said this, the old man drew from under his coat a wonderful sword that
						flashed in the sunlight as if it were covered with diamonds. "This is the
						sword of all swords," he said, "and it is for you, if you will leave your
						idling here by the castle gate and carry it to the battle. Nothing can stand
						before it. When you lift it the giants will fall back, your master will be
						saved, and you will be crowned the victorious knight—the one who will soon
						take his commander's place as lord of the castle."</p>
					<p>Now Sir Roland believed that it was a magician who was speaking to him, for
						it certainly appeared to be a magic sword. It seemed so wonderful that the
						sword should be brought to him, that he reached out his hand as though he
						would take it, and the little old man came forward, as though he would cross
						the drawbridge into the castle. But as he did so, it came to Sir Roland's
						mind again that that bridge and the gateway had been intrusted to him, and
						he called out "No!" to the old man, so that he stopped where he was
						standing. But he waved the shining sword in the air again, and said: "It is
						for you! Take it, and win the victory!"</p>
					<p>Sir Roland was really afraid that if he looked any longer at the sword or
						listened to any more words of the old man, he would not be able to hold
						himself within the castle. For this reason he struck the great bell at the
						gateway, which was the signal for the servants inside to pull in the chains
						of the drawbridge, and instantly they began to pull, and the drawbridge came
						up, so that the old man could not cross it to enter the castle, nor Sir
						Roland to go out.</p>
					<p>Then, as he looked across the moat, Sir Roland saw a wonderful thing. The
						little old man threw off his black cloak, and as he did so he began to grow
						bigger and bigger, until in a minute more he was a giant as tall as any in
						the forest. At first Sir Roland could scarcely believe his eyes. Then he
						realized that this must be one of their giant enemies, who had changed
						himself to a little old man through some magic power, that he might make his
						way into the castle while all the knights were away. Sir Roland shuddered to
						think what might have happened if he had taken the sword and left the gate
						unguarded. The giant shook his <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="227"
							id="Page_227">227</span> fist across the moat that lay between them, and then,
						knowing that he could do nothing more, he went angrily back into the
						forest.</p>
					<p>Sir Roland now resolved not to open the gate again, and to pay no attention
						to any other visitor. But it was not long before he heard a sound that made
						him spring forward in joy. It was the bugle of the lord of the castle, and
						there came sounding after it the bugles of many of the knights that were
						with him, pealing so joyfully that Sir Roland was sure they were safe and
						happy. As they came nearer, he could hear their shouts of victory. So he
						gave the signal to let down the drawbridge again, and went out to meet them.
						They were dusty and bloodstained and weary, but they had won the battle with
						the giants; and it had been such a great victory that there had never been a
						happier home-coming.</p>
					<p>Sir Roland greeted them all as they passed in over the bridge, and then, when
						he had closed the gate and fastened it, he followed them into the great hall
						of the castle. The lord of the castle took his place on the highest seat,
						with the other knights about him, and Sir Roland came forward with the key
						of the gate, to give his account of what he had done in the place to which
						the commander had appointed him. The lord of the castle bowed to him as a
						sign for him to begin, but just as he opened his mouth to speak, one of the
						knights cried out:</p>
					<p>"The shield! the shield! Sir Roland's shield!"</p>
					<p>Every one turned and looked at the shield which Sir Roland carried on his
						left arm. He himself could see only the top of it and did not know what they
						could mean. But what they saw was the golden star of knighthood, shining
						brightly from the center of Sir Roland's shield. There had never been such
						amazement in the castle before.</p>
					<p>Sir Roland knelt before the lord of the castle to receive his commands. He
						still did not know why every one was looking at him so excitedly, and
						wondered if he had in some way done wrong.</p>
					<p>"Speak, Sir Knight," said the commander, as soon as he could find his voice
						after his surprise, "and tell us all that has happened to-day at the castle.
						Have you been attacked? Have any giants come hither? Did you fight them
						alone?"</p>
					<p>"No, my Lord," said Sir Roland. "Only one giant has been here, and he went
						away silently when he found he could not enter."</p>
					<p>Then he told all that had happened through the day.</p>
					<p>When he had finished, the knights all looked at one another, but no one spoke
						a word. Then they looked again at Sir Roland's shield, to make sure that
						their eyes had not deceived them, and there the golden star was still
						shining.</p>
					<p>After a little silence the lord of the castle spoke.</p>
					<p>"Men make mistakes," he said, "but our silver shields are never mistaken. Sir
						Roland has fought and won the hardest battle of all to-day."</p>
					<p>Then the others all rose and saluted Sir Roland, who was the youngest knight
						that ever carried the golden star.</p>
				</section>
			</section>
			
			<section id="pgepubid00580">
				<h3>202</h3>
				
				<p class="intro">Jean Ingelow (1820-1897) was an English poet, novelist, and
					writer of stories for children, who lived in the fen district of Lincolnshire.
					Her most noted poem deals with a terrible catastrophe that happened there more
					than three centuries ago. It <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="228" id="Page_228"
					/> is called "The High Tide on the Coast of Lincolnshire." Many reading books
					for the third or fourth grade contain her dainty and melodious "Seven Times
					One," in which a little girl expresses the joy and sense of power felt on
					reaching a seventh birthday. Of her children's books, the favorite is <cite>Mopsa
						the Fairy</cite>, which some one has called a "delightful succession of breezy
					impossibilities." Her shorter stories for children are collected under the title
						<cite>Stories Told to a Child</cite> (two series), from which "The Prince's Dream"
					is taken. It is somewhat old fashioned in method and style, reminding one of the
					stories of the days of Addison and Steele. Its seriousness is in striking
					contrast with the more flippant note in much modern writing for children, and it
					is sure to suggest some questions on the dangers and advantages of great
					possessions in their effects on labor, liberty, and human happiness in general.
					However, the moral will take care of itself, and the attention should rest on
					the means used by the old man to teach the young prince the things he is shut
					out from learning by experience. The children will easily see that it is an
					anticipation of the moving-picture method. Some other good stories in the
					collection mentioned are "I Have a Right," "The Fairy Who Judged Her Neighbors,"
					and "Anselmo."</p>
				
				<section id="pgepubid00582">
					<h4>THE PRINCE'S DREAM</h4>
					<div epub:type="z3998:author">JEAN INGELOW</div>
					
					<p>If we may credit the fable, there is a tower in the midst of a great Asiatic
						plain, wherein is confined a prince who was placed there in his earliest
						infancy, with many slaves and attendants, and all the luxuries that are
						compatible with imprisonment.</p>
					<p>Whether he was brought there from some motive of state, whether to conceal
						him from enemies, or to deprive him of rights, has not transpired; but it is
						certain that up to the date of this little history he had never set his foot
						outside the walls of that high tower, and that of the vast world without he
						knew only the green plains which surrounded it; the flocks and the birds of
						that region were all his experience of living creatures, and all the men he
						saw outside were shepherds.</p>
					<p>And yet he was not utterly deprived of change, for sometimes one of his
						attendants would be ordered away, and his place would be supplied by a new
						one. This fresh companion the prince would never weary of questioning, and
						letting him talk of cities, of ships, of forests, of merchandise, of kings;
						but though in turns they all tried to satisfy his curiosity, they could not
						succeed in conveying very distinct notions to his mind; partly because there
						was nothing in the tower to which they could compare the external world,
						partly because, having chiefly lived lives of seclusion and indolence in
						Eastern palaces, they knew it only by hearsay themselves.</p>
					<p>At length, one day, a venerable man of a noble presence was brought to the
						tower, with soldiers to guard him and slaves to attend him. The prince was
						glad of his presence, though at first he seldom opened his lips, and it was
						manifest that confinement made him miserable. With restless feet he would
						wander from window to window of the stone tower, and mount from story to
						story; but mount as high as he would there was still nothing to be seen but
						the vast unvarying plain, clothed with scanty grass, and flooded with the
						glaring sunshine; flocks and herds, and shepherds, moved across it
						sometimes, but nothing else, not even a shadow, for there was no cloud in
						the sky to cast one. <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="229" id="Page_229"
						/></p>
					<p>The old man, however, always treated the prince with respect, and answered
						his questions with a great deal of patience, till at length he found a
						pleasure in satisfying his curiosity, which so much pleased the young
						prisoner, that, as a great condescension, he invited him to come out on the
						roof of the tower and drink sherbet with him in the cool of the evening, and
						tell him of the country beyond the desert, and what seas are like, and
						mountains, and towns.</p>
					<p>"I have learnt much from my attendants, and know this world pretty well by
						hearsay," said the prince, as they reclined on the rich carpet which was
						spread on the roof.</p>
					<p>The old man smiled, but did not answer; perhaps because he did not care to
						undeceive his young companion, perhaps because so many slaves were present,
						some of whom were serving them with fruit, and others burning rich odors on
						a little chafing-dish that stood between them.</p>
					<p>"But there are some words to which I never could attach any particular
						meaning," proceeded the prince, as the slaves began to retire, "and three in
						particular that my attendants cannot satisfy me upon, or are reluctant to do
						so."</p>
					<p>"What words are those, my prince?" asked the old man. The prince turned on
						his elbow to be sure that the last slave had descended the tower stairs,
						then replied—</p>
					<p>"O man of much knowledge, the words are these—Labor, and Liberty, and
						Gold."</p>
					<p>"Prince," said the old man, "I do not wonder that it has been hard to make
						thee understand the first, the nature of it, and the cause why most men are
						born to it; as for the second, it would be treason for thee and me to do
						more than whisper it here, and sigh for it when none are listening; but the
						third need hardly puzzle thee, thy hookah is bright with it; all thy jewels
						are set in it; gold is inlaid in the ivory of thy bath; thy cup and thy dish
						are of gold, and golden threads are wrought into thy raiment."</p>
					<p>"That is true," replied the prince, "and if I had not seen and handled this
						gold, perhaps I might not find its merits so hard to understand; but I
						possess it in abundance, and it does not feed me, nor make music for me, nor
						fan me when the sun is hot, nor cause me to sleep when I am weary; therefore
						when my slaves have told me how merchants go out and brave the perilous wind
						and sea, and live in the unstable ships, and run risks from shipwreck and
						pirates, and when, having asked them why they have done this, they have
						answered, 'For gold,' I have found it hard to believe them; and when they
						have told me how men have lied, and robbed, and deceived; how they have
						murdered one another, and leagued together to depose kings, to oppress
						provinces, and all for gold; then I have said to myself, either my slaves
						have combined to make me believe that which is not, or this gold must be
						very different from the yellow stuff that this coin is made of, this coin
						which is of no use but to have a hole pierced through it and hang to my
						girdle, that it may tinkle when I walk."</p>
					<p>"Notwithstanding," said the old man, "nothing can be done without gold; for
						look you, prince, it is better than bread, and fruit, and music, for it can
						buy them all, since men love it, and have agreed to exchange it for whatever
						they may need."</p>
					<p>"How so?" asked the prince.</p>
					<p>"If a man has many loaves he cannot eat them all," answered the old man;
						"therefore he goes to his neighbor and <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="230"
							id="Page_230">230</span> says, 'I have bread and thou hast a coin of gold—let
						us change'; so he receives the gold and goes to another man, saying, 'Thou
						hast two houses and I have none; lend me one of thy houses to live in, and I
						will give thee my gold'; thus again they change, and he that has the gold
						says, 'I have food enough and goods enough, but I want a wife, I will go to
						the merchant and get a marriage gift for her father, and for it I will give
						him this gold.'"</p>
					<p>"It is well," said the prince; "but in time of drought, if there is no bread
						in a city, can they make it of gold?"</p>
					<p>"Not so," answered the old man, "but they must send their gold to a city
						where there is food, and bring that back instead of it."</p>
					<p>"But if there was a famine all over the world," asked the prince, "what would
						they do then?"</p>
					<p>"Why then, and only then," said the old man, "they must starve, and the gold
						would be nought, for it can only be changed for that which <em>is;</em> it
						cannot make that which is not."</p>
					<p>"And where do they get gold?" asked the prince; "is it the precious fruit of
						some rare tree, or have they whereby they can draw it down from the sky at
						sunset?"</p>
					<p>"Some of it," said the old man, "they dig out of the ground."</p>
					<p>Then he told the prince of ancient rivers running through terrible deserts,
						whose sands glitter, with golden grains and are yellow in the fierce heat of
						the sun, and of dreary mines where the Indian slaves work in gangs tied
						together, never seeing the light of day; and lastly (for he was a man of
						much knowledge, and had traveled far), he told him of the valley of the
						Sacramento in the New World, and of those mountains where the people of
						Europe send their criminals, and where now their free men pour forth to
						gather gold, and dig for it as hard as if for life; sitting up by it at
						night lest any should take it from them, giving up houses and country, and
						wife and children, for the sake of a few feet of mud, whence they dig clay
						that glitters as they wash it; and how they sift it and rock it as patiently
						as if it were their own children in the cradle, and afterwards carry it in
						their bosoms, and forego on account of it safety and rest.</p>
					<p>"But, prince," he proceeded, observing that the young man was absorbed in his
						narrative, "if you would pass your word to me never to betray me, I would
						procure for you a sight of the external world, and in a trance you should
						see those places where gold is dug, and traverse those regions forbidden to
						your mortal footsteps."</p>
					<p>Upon this, the prince threw himself at the old man's feet, and promised
						heartily to observe the secrecy required, and entreated that, for however
						short time, he might be suffered to see this wonderful world.</p>
					<p>Then, if we may credit the story, the old man drew nearer to the chafing-dish
						which stood between them, and having fanned the dying embers in it, cast
						upon them a certain powder and some herbs, from whence as they burnt a
						peculiar smoke arose. As their vapors spread, he desired the prince to draw
						near and inhale them, and then (says the fable) when he should sleep he
						should find himself, in his dream, at whatever place he might desire, with
						this strange advantage, that he should see things in their truth and reality
						as well as in their outward shows.</p>
					<p>So the prince, not without some fear, prepared to obey; but first he drank
							his <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="231" id="Page_231">231</span> sherbet, and
						handed over the golden cup to the old man by way of recompense; then he
						reclined beside the chafing-dish and inhaled the heavy perfume till he
						became overpowered with sleep, and sank down upon the carpet in a dream.</p>
					<p>The prince knew not where he was, but a green country was floating before
						him, and he found himself standing in a marshy valley, where a few wretched
						cottages were scattered here and there with no means of communication. There
						was a river, but it had overflowed its banks and made the central land
						impassable, the fences had been broken down by it, and the fields of corn
						laid low; a few wretched peasants were wandering about there; they looked
						half clad and half starved. "A miserable valley indeed!" exclaimed the
						prince; but as he said it a man came down from the hills with a great bag of
						gold in his hand.</p>
					<p>"This valley is mine," said he to the people; "I have bought it for gold. Now
						make banks that the river may not overflow, and I will give you gold; also
						make fences and plant fields, and cover in the roofs of your houses, and buy
						yourselves richer clothing." So the people did so, and as the gold got lower
						in the bag the valley grew fairer and greener, till the prince exclaimed, "O
						gold, I see your value now! O wonderful, beneficent gold!"</p>
					<p>But presently the valley melted away like a mist, and the prince saw an army
						besieging a city; he heard a general haranguing his soldiers to urge them
						on, and the soldiers shouting and battering the walls; but shortly, when the
						city was well-nigh taken, he saw some men secretly throwing gold among the
						soldiers, so much of it that they threw down their arms to pick it up, and
						said that the walls were so strong that they could not throw them down. "O
						powerful gold!" thought the prince; "thou art stronger than the city
						walls!"</p>
					<p>After that it seemed to himself that he was walking about in a desert
						country, and in his dream he thought, "Now I know what labor is, for I have
						seen it, and its benefits; and I know what liberty is, for I have tasted it;
						I can wander where I will, and no man questions me; but gold is more strange
						to me than ever, for I have seen it buy both liberty and labor." Shortly
						after this he saw a great crowd digging upon a barren hill, and when he drew
						near he understood that he had reached the summit of his wishes, and that he
						was to see the place where the gold came from.</p>
					<p>He came up and stood a long time watching the people as they toiled ready to
						faint in the sun, so great was the labor of digging the gold.</p>
					<p>He saw who had much and could not trust any one to help them to carry it,
						binding it in bundles over their shoulders, and bending and groaning under
						its weight; he saw others hide it in the ground, and watch the place clothed
						in rags, that none might suspect that they were rich; but some, on the
						contrary, who had dug up an unusual quantity, he saw dancing and singing,
						and vaunting their success, till robbers waylaid them when they slept, and
						rifled their bundles and carried their golden sand away.</p>
					<p>"All these men are mad," thought the prince, "and this pernicious gold has
						made them so."</p>
					<p>After this, as he wandered here and there, he saw groups of people smelting
						the gold under the shadow of the trees, and he observed that a dancing,
						quivering vapor rose up from it, which dazzled their <span epub:type="pagebreak"
							title="232" id="Page_232">232</span> eyes, and distorted everything that they
						looked at; arraying it also in different colors from the true one. He
						observed that this vapor from the gold caused all things to rock and reel
						before the eyes of those who looked through it, and also, by some strange
						affinity, it drew their hearts towards those that carried much gold on their
						persons, so that they called them good and beautiful; it also caused them to
						see darkness and dullness in the faces of those who carried none. "This,"
						thought the prince, "is very strange"; but not being able to explain it, he
						went still further, and there he saw more people. Each of these had adorned
						himself with a broad golden girdle, and was sitting in the shade, while
						other men waited on them.</p>
					<p>"What ails these people?" he inquired of one who was looking on, for he
						observed a peculiar air of weariness and dullness in their faces. He was
						answered that the girdles were very tight and heavy, and being bound over
						the regions of the heart, were supposed to impede its action, and prevent it
						from beating high, and also to chill the wearer, as being of opaque
						material, the warm sunshine of the earth could not get through to warm
						him.</p>
					<p>"Why, then, do they not break them asunder," exclaimed the prince, "and fling
						them away?"</p>
					<p>"Break them asunder!" cried the man; "why what a madman you must be; they are
						made of the purest gold!"</p>
					<p>"Forgive my ignorance," replied the prince; "I am a stranger."</p>
					<p>So he walked on, for feelings of delicacy prevented him from gazing any
						longer at the men with the golden girdles; but as he went he pondered on the
						misery he had seen, and thought to himself that this golden sand did more
						mischief than all the poisons of the apothecary; for it dazzled the eyes of
						some, it strained the hearts of others, it bowed down the heads of many to
						the earth with its weight; it was a sore labor to gather it, and when it was
						gathered, the robber might carry it away; it would be a good thing, he
						thought, if there were none of it.</p>
					<p>After this he came to a place where were sitting some aged widows and some
						orphan children of the gold-diggers, who were helpless and destitute; they
						were weeping and bemoaning themselves, but stopped at the approach of a man,
						whose appearance attracted the prince, for he had a very great bundle of
						gold on his back, and yet it did not bow him down at all; his apparel was
						rich but he had no girdle on, and his face was anything but sad.</p>
					<p>"Sir," said the prince to him, "you have a great burden; you are fortunate to
						be able to stand under it."</p>
					<p>"I could not do so," he replied, "only that as I go on I keep lightening it";
						and as he passed each of the widows, he threw gold to her, and stooping
						down, hid pieces of it in the bosoms of the children.</p>
					<p>"You have no girdle," said the prince.</p>
					<p>"I once had one," answered the gold gatherer; "but it was so tight over my
						breast that my very heart grew cold under it, and almost ceased to beat.
						Having a great quantity of gold on my back, I felt almost at the last gasp;
						so I threw off my girdle and being on the bank of a river, which I knew not
						how to cross, I was about to fling it in, I was so vexed! 'But no,' thought
						I, 'there are many people waiting here to cross besides myself. I will make
						my girdle into a bridge, and we will cross over on it.'"</p>
					<p>"Turn your girdle into a bridge!" exclaimed the prince doubtfully, for he did
						not quite understand.</p>
					<p>The man explained himself. <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="233"
							id="Page_233">233</span></p>
					<p>"And then, sir, after that," he continued, "I turned one half of my burden
						into bread, and gave it to these poor people. Since then I have not been
						oppressed by its weight, however heavy it may have been; for few men have a
						heavier one. In fact, I gather more from day to day."</p>
					<p>As the man kept speaking, he scattered his gold right and left with a
						cheerful countenance, and the prince was about to reply, when suddenly a
						great trembling under his feet made him fall to the ground. The refining
						fires of the gold gatherers sprang up into flames, and then went out; night
						fell over everything on the earth, and nothing was visible in the sky but
						the stars of the southern cross, which were glittering above him.</p>
					<p>"It is past midnight," thought the prince, "for the stars of the cross begin
						to bend."</p>
					<p>He raised himself upon his elbow, and tried to pierce the darkness, but could
						not. At length a slender blue flame darted out, as from ashes in a
						chafing-dish, and by the light of it he saw the strange pattern of his
						carpet and the cushions lying about. He did not recognise them at first, but
						presently he knew that he was lying in his usual place, at the top of his
						tower.</p>
					<p>"Wake up, prince," said the old man.</p>
					<p>The prince sat up and sighed, and the old man inquired what he had seen.</p>
					<p>"O man of much learning!" answered the prince, "I have seen that this is a
						wonderful world; I have seen the value of labor, and I know the uses of it;
						I have tasted the sweetness of liberty, and am grateful, though it was but
						in a dream; but as for that other word that was so great a mystery to me, I
						only know this, that it must remain a mystery forever, since I am fain to
						believe that all men are bent on getting it; though, once gotten, it causeth
						them endless disquietude, only second to their discomfort that are without
						it. I am fain to believe that they can procure with it whatever they most
						desire, and yet that it cankers their hearts and dazzles their eyes; that it
						is their nature and their duty to gather it; and yet that, when once
						gathered, the best thing they can do is to scatter it!"</p>
					<p>Alas! the prince visited this wonderful world no more; for the next morning,
						when he awoke, the old man was gone. He had taken with him the golden cup
						which the prince had given him. And the sentinel was also gone, none knew
						whither. Perhaps the old man had turned his golden cup into a golden
						key.</p>
				</section>
			</section>
			
			<section id="pgepubid00588">
				<h3>203</h3>
				
				<p class="intro">Few modern writers have given their readers more genuine delight
					than Frank R. Stockton (1834-1902). The most absurd and illogical situations and
					characters are presented with an air of such quiet sincerity that one refuses to
					question the reality of it all. <cite>Rudder Grange</cite> established his reputation
					in 1879, and was followed by a long list of stories of delightfully impossible
					events. For several years Stockton was one of the editors of <cite>St.
					Nicholas</cite>, and some of his stories for children, of first quality in both
					form and content, deserve to be better known than they are. Five of the best of
					them for school use have been brought together in a little volume called
						<cite>Fanciful Tales</cite>. One of these, "Old Pipes and the Dryad," is given
					here by permission of the publishers, Charles Scribner's Sons, New York.
					(Copyright, 1894.) This story is based upon the old mythical belief that the
					trees are inhabited by guardian deities known as dryads, or hamadryads. To
					injure a tree meant to injure its guardian spirit and was almost certain to
						insure <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="234" id="Page_234">234</span> disaster for
					the guilty person. On the other hand, to protect a tree would bring some token
					of appreciation from the dryad. A good introduction to the story would be the
					telling of one or two of these tree myths as found in Gayley's <cite>Classic
						Myths</cite> or Bulfinch's <cite>Age of Fable</cite>. A fine literary version of one
					of them is in Lowell's "Rhoecus." But the beautiful and kindly helpfulness of
					Old Pipes will carry its own message whether one knows any mythology or
					not.</p>
				
				<section id="pgepubid00590">
					<h4>OLD PIPES AND THE DRYAD</h4>
					<div epub:type="z3998:author">FRANK R. STOCKTON</div>
					
					<p>A Mountain brook ran through a little village. Over the brook there was a
						narrow bridge, and from the bridge a foot-path led out from the village and
						up the hill-side, to the cottage of Old Pipes and his mother.</p>
					<p>For many, many years Old Pipes had been employed by the villagers to pipe the
						cattle down from the hills. Every afternoon, an hour before sunset, he would
						sit on a rock in front of his cottage and play on his pipes. Then all the
						flocks and herds that were grazing on the mountains would hear him, wherever
						they might happen to be, and would come down to the village—the cows by the
						easiest paths, the sheep by those not quite so easy, and the goats by the
						steep and rocky ways that were hardest of all.</p>
					<p>But now, for a year or more, Old Pipes had not piped the cattle home. It is
						true that every afternoon he sat upon the rock and played upon his pipes;
						but the cattle did not hear him. He had grown old, and his breath was
						feeble. The echoes of his cheerful notes, which used to come from the rocky
						hill on the other side of the valley, were heard no more; and twenty yards
						from Old Pipes one could scarcely tell what tune he was playing. He had
						become somewhat deaf, and did not know that the sound of his pipes was so
						thin and weak, and that the cattle did not hear him. The cows, the sheep,
						and the goats came down every afternoon as before; but this was because two
						boys and a girl were sent up after them. The villagers did not wish the good
						old man to know that his piping was no longer of any use; so they paid him
						his little salary every month, and said nothing about the two boys and the
						girl.</p>
					<p>Old Pipes's mother was, of course, a great deal older than he was, and was as
						deaf as a gate—post, latch, hinges, and all—and she never knew that the
						sound of her son's pipe did not spread over all the mountain-side and echo
						back strong and clear from the opposite hills. She was very fond of Old
						Pipes, and proud of his piping; and as he was so much younger than she was,
						she never thought of him as being very old. She cooked for him, and made his
						bed, and mended his clothes; and they lived very comfortably on his little
						salary.</p>
					<p>One afternoon, at the end of the month, when Old Pipes had finished his
						piping, he took his stout staff and went down the hill to the village to
						receive the money for his month's work. The path seemed a great deal steeper
						and more difficult than it used to be; and Old Pipes thought that it must
						have been washed by the rains and greatly damaged. He remembered it as a
						path that was quite easy to traverse either up or down. But Old Pipes had
						been a very active man, and as his mother was so much older than he was, he
						never thought of himself as aged and infirm. <span epub:type="pagebreak"
							title="235" id="Page_235">235</span></p>
					<p>When the Chief Villager had paid him, and he had talked a little with some of
						his friends, Old Pipes started to go home. But when he had crossed the
						bridge over the brook, and gone a short distance up the hill-side, he became
						very tired, and sat down upon a stone. He had not been sitting there half a
						minute, when along came two boys and a girl.</p>
					<p>"Children," said Old Pipes, "I'm very tired to-night, and I don't believe I
						can climb up this steep path to my home. I think I shall have to ask you to
						help me."</p>
					<p>"We will do that," said the boys and the girl, quite cheerfully; and one boy
						took him by the right hand and the other by the left, while the girl pushed
						him in the back. In this way he went up the hill quite easily, and soon
						reached his cottage door. Old Pipes gave each of the three children a copper
						coin, and then they sat down for a few minutes' rest before starting back to
						the village.</p>
					<p>"I'm sorry that I tired you so much," said Old Pipes.</p>
					<p>"Oh, that would not have tired us," said one of the boys, "if we had not been
						so far to-day after the cows, the sheep, and the goats. They rambled high up
						on the mountain, and we never before had such a time in finding them."</p>
					<p>"Had to go after the cows, the sheep, and the goats!" exclaimed Old Pipes.
						"What do you mean by that?"</p>
					<p>The girl, who stood behind the old man, shook her head, put her hand on her
						mouth, and made all sorts of signs to the boy to stop talking on this
						subject; but he did not notice her, and promptly answered Old Pipes.</p>
					<p>"Why, you see, good sir," said he, "that as the cattle can't hear your pipes
						now, somebody has to go after them every evening to drive them down from the
						mountain, and the Chief Villager has hired us three to do it. Generally it
						is not very hard work, but to-night the cattle had wandered far."</p>
					<p>"How long have you been doing this?" asked the old man.</p>
					<p>The girl shook her head and clapped her hand on her mouth as before, but the
						boy went on.</p>
					<p>"I think it is about a year now," he said, "since the people first felt sure
						that the cattle could not hear your pipes; and from that time we've been
						driving them down. But we are rested now, and will go home. Good-night,
						sir."</p>
					<p>The three children then went down the hill, the girl scolding the boy all the
						way home. Old Pipes stood silent a few moments, and then he went into his
						cottage.</p>
					<p>"Mother," he shouted, "did you hear what those children said?"</p>
					<p>"Children!" exclaimed the old woman; "I did not hear them. I did not know
						there were any children here."</p>
					<p>Then Old Pipes told his mother—shouting very loudly to make her hear—how the
						two boys and the girl had helped him up the hill, and what he had heard
						about his piping and the cattle.</p>
					<p>"They can't hear you?" cried his mother. "Why, what's the matter with the
						cattle?"</p>
					<p>"Ah, me!" said Old Pipes; "I don't believe there's anything the matter with
						the cattle. It must be with me and my pipes that there is something the
						matter. But one thing is certain: if I do not earn the wages the Chief
						Villager pays me, I shall not take them. I shall go straight down to the
						village and give back the money I received to-day." <span
							epub:type="pagebreak" title="236" id="Page_236">236</span></p>
					<p>"Nonsense!" cried his mother. "I'm sure you've piped as well as you could,
						and no more can be expected. And what are we to do without the money?"</p>
					<p>"I don't know," said Old Pipes; "but I'm going down to the village to pay it
						back."</p>
					<p>The sun had now set; but the moon was shining very brightly on the hill-side,
						and Old Pipes could see his way very well. He did not take the same path by
						which he had gone before, but followed another, which led among the trees
						upon the hill-side, and, though longer, was not so steep.</p>
					<p>When he had gone about half-way, the old man sat down to rest, leaning his
						back against a great oak tree. As he did so, he heard a sound like knocking
						inside the tree, and then a voice said:</p>
					<p>"Let me out! let me out!"</p>
					<p>Old Pipes instantly forgot that he was tired, and sprang to his feet. "This
						must be a Dryad tree!" he exclaimed. "If it is, I'll let her out."</p>
					<p>Old Pipes had never, to his knowledge, seen a Dryad tree, but he knew there
						were such trees on the hill-sides and the mountains, and that Dryads lived
						in them. He knew, too, that in the summer time, on those days when the moon
						rose before the sun went down, a Dryad could come out of her tree if any one
						could find the key which locked her in, and turn it. Old Pipes closely
						examined the trunk of the tree, which stood in the full moonlight. "If I see
						that key," he said, "I shall surely turn it." Before long he found a piece
						of bark standing out from the tree, which looked to him very much like the
						handle of a key. He took hold of it, and found he could turn it quite
						around. As he did so, a large part of the side of the tree was pushed open,
						and a beautiful <a href="#s04-a03" epub:type="annoref">Dryad</a> stepped 
						quickly out.</p>
					
					<aside epub:type="annotation" id="s04-a03">
						<p>Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Dyrad'</p>
					</aside>
					
					<p>For a moment she stood motionless, gazing on the scene before her—the
						tranquil valley, the hills, the forest, and the mountain-side, all lying in
						the soft clear light of the moon. "Oh, lovely! lovely!" she exclaimed. "How
						long it is since I have seen anything like this!" And then, turning to Old
						Pipes, she said: "How good of you to let me out! I am so happy, and so
						thankful, that I must kiss you, you dear old man!" And she threw her arms
						around the neck of Old Pipes, and kissed him on both cheeks.</p>
					<p>"You don't know," she then went on to say, "how doleful it is to be shut up
						so long in a tree. I don't mind it in the winter, for then I am glad to be
						sheltered, but in summer it is a rueful thing not to be able to see all the
						beauties of the world. And it's ever so long since I've been let out. People
						so seldom come this way; and when they do come at the right time, they
						either don't hear me or they are frightened and run away. But you, you dear
						old man, you were not frightened, and you looked and looked for the key, and
						you let me out; and now I shall not have to go back till winter has come,
						and the air grows cold. Oh, it is glorious! What can I do for you, to show
						you how grateful I am?"</p>
					<p>"I am very glad," said Old Pipes, "that I let you out, since I see that it
						makes you so happy; but I must admit that I tried to find the key because I
						had a great desire to see a Dryad. But, if you wish to do something for me,
						you can, if you happen to be going down toward the village."</p>
					<p>"To the village!" exclaimed the Dryad. <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="237"
							id="Page_237">237</span> "I will go anywhere for you, my kind old
						benefactor."</p>
					<p>"Well, then," said Old Pipes, "I wish you would take this little bag of money
						to the Chief Villager and tell him that Old Pipes cannot receive pay for the
						services which he does not perform. It is now more than a year that I have
						not been able to make the cattle hear me, when I piped to call them home. I
						did not know this until to-night; but now that I know it, I cannot keep the
						money, and so I send it back." And, handing the little bag to the Dryad, he
						bade her good-night, and turned toward his cottage.</p>
					<p>"Good-night," said the Dryad. "And I thank you over, and over, and over
						again, you good old man!"</p>
					<p>Old Pipes walked toward his home, very glad to be saved the fatigue of going
						all the way down to the village and back again. "To be sure," he said to
						himself, "this path does not seem at all steep, and I can walk along it very
						easily; but it would have tired me dreadfully to come up all the way from
						the village, especially as I could not have expected those children to help
						me again." When he reached home his mother was surprised to see him
						returning so soon.</p>
					<p>"What!" she exclaimed; "have you already come back? What did the Chief
						Villager say? Did he take the money?"</p>
					<p>Old Pipes was just about to tell her that he had sent the money to the
						village by a Dryad, when he suddenly reflected that his mother would be sure
						to disapprove such a proceeding, and so he merely said he had sent it by a
						person whom he had met.</p>
					<p>"And how do you know that the person will ever take it to the Chief
						Villager?" cried his mother. "You will lose it, and the villagers will never
						get it. Oh, Pipes! Pipes! when will you be old enough to have ordinary
						common-sense?"</p>
					<p>Old Pipes considered that, as he was already seventy years of age, he could
						scarcely expect to grow any wiser; but he made no remark on this subject,
						and, saying that he doubted not that the money would go safely to its
						destination, he sat down to his supper. His mother scolded him roundly, but
						he did not mind it; and after supper he went out and sat on a rustic chair
						in front of the cottage to look at the moonlit village, and to wonder
						whether or not the Chief Villager really received the money. While he was
						doing these two things, he went fast asleep.</p>
					<p>When Old Pipes left the Dryad, she did not go down to the village with the
						little bag of money. She held it in her hand, and thought about what she had
						heard. "This is a good and honest old man," she said; "and it is a shame
						that he should lose this money. He looked as if he needed it, and I don't
						believe the people in the village will take it from one who has served them
						so long. Often, when in my tree, have I heard the sweet notes of his pipes.
						I am going to take the money back to him." She did not start immediately,
						because there were so many beautiful things to look at; but after awhile she
						went up to the cottage, and, finding Old Pipes asleep in his chair, she
						slipped the little bag into his coat-pocket, and silently sped away.</p>
					<p>The next day Old Pipes told his mother that he would go up the mountain and
						cut some wood. He had a right to get wood from the mountain, but for a long
						time he had been content to pick up the dead branches which lay about his
						cottage. To-day, however, he felt so strong and vigorous that he thought he
							would <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="238" id="Page_238">238</span> go and cut
						some fuel that would be better than this. He worked all the morning, and
						when he came back he did not feel at all tired, and he had a very good
						appetite for his dinner.</p>
					<p>Now, Old Pipes knew a good deal about Dryads; but there was one thing which,
						although he had heard, he had forgotten. This was, that a kiss from a Dryad
						made a person ten years younger.</p>
					<p>The people of the village knew this, and they were very careful not to let
						any child of ten years or younger go into the woods where the Dryads were
						supposed to be; for, if they should chance to be kissed by one of these
						tree-nymphs, they would be set back so far that they would cease to
						exist.</p>
					<p>A story was told in the village that a very bad boy of eleven once ran away
						into the woods, and had an adventure of this kind; and when his mother found
						him he was a little baby of one year old. Taking advantage of her
						opportunity, she brought him up more carefully than she had done before, and
						he grew to be a very good boy indeed.</p>
					<p>Now Old Pipes had been kissed twice by the Dryad, once on each cheek, and he
						therefore felt as vigorous and active as when he was a hale man of fifty.
						His mother noticed how much work he was doing, and told him that he need not
						try in that way to make up for the loss of his piping wages; for he would
						only tire himself out, and get sick. But her son answered that he had not
						felt so well for years, and that he was quite able to work.</p>
					<p>In the course of the afternoon, Old Pipes, for the first time that day, put
						his hand in his coat-pocket, and there, to his amazement, he found the
						little bag of money. "Well, well!" he exclaimed, "I am stupid, indeed! I
						really thought that I had seen a Dryad; but when I sat down by that big oak
						tree I must have gone to sleep and dreamed it all; and then I came home,
						thinking I had given the money to a Dryad, when it was in my pocket all the
						time. But the Chief Villager shall have the money. I shall not take it to
						him to-day, but to-morrow I wish to go to the village to see some of my old
						friends; and then I shall give up the money."</p>
					<p>Toward the close of the afternoon, Old Pipes, as had been his custom for so
						many years, took his pipes from the shelf on which they lay, and went out to
						the rock in front of the cottage.</p>
					<p>"What are you going to do?" cried his mother. "If you will not consent to be
						paid, why do you pipe?"</p>
					<p>"I am going to pipe for my own pleasure," said her son. "I am used to it, and
						I do not wish to give it up. It does not matter now whether the cattle hear
						me or not, and I am sure that my piping will injure no one."</p>
					<p>When the good man began to play upon his favorite instrument he was
						astonished at the sound that came from it. The beautiful notes of the pipes
						sounded clear and strong down into the valley, and spread over the hills,
						and up the sides of the mountain beyond, while, after a little interval, an
						echo came back from the rocky hill on the other side of the valley.</p>
					<p>"Ha! ha!" he cried, "what has happened to my pipes? They must have been
						stopped up of late, but now they are as clear and good as ever."</p>
					<p>Again the merry notes went sounding far and wide. The cattle on the mountain
						heard them, and those that were old enough remembered how these notes had
						called them from their pastures <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="239"
							id="Page_239">239</span> every evening, and so they started down the
						mountain-side, the others following.</p>
					<p>The merry notes were heard in the village below, and the people were much
						astonished thereby. "Why, who can be blowing the pipes of Old Pipes?" they
						said. But, as they were all very busy, no one went up to see. One thing,
						however, was plain enough: the cattle were coming down the mountain. And so
						the two boys and the girl did not have to go after them, and had an hour for
						play, for which they were very glad.</p>
					<p>The next morning Old Pipes started down to the village with his money, and on
						the way he met the Dryad. "Oh, ho!" he cried, "is that you? Why, I thought
						my letting you out of the tree was nothing but a dream."</p>
					<p>"A dream!" cried the Dryad; "if you only knew how happy you have made me, you
						would not think it merely a dream. And has it not benefited you? Do you not
						feel happier? Yesterday I heard you playing beautifully on your pipes."</p>
					<p>"Yes, yes," cried he. "I did not understand it before, but I see it all now.
						I have really grown younger. I thank you, I thank you, good Dryad, from the
						bottom of my heart. It was the finding of the money in my pocket that made
						me think it was a dream."</p>
					<p>"Oh, I put it in when you were asleep," she said, laughing, "because I
						thought you ought to keep it. Good-by, kind, honest man. May you live long,
						and be as happy as I am now."</p>
					<p>Old Pipes was greatly delighted when he understood that he was really a
						younger man; but that made no difference about the money, and he kept on his
						way to the village. As soon as he reached it, he was eagerly questioned as
						to who had been playing his pipes the evening before, and when the people
						heard that it was himself they were very much surprised. Thereupon Old Pipes
						told what had happened to him, and then there was greater wonder, with
						hearty congratulations and hand-shakes; for Old Pipes was liked by everyone.
						The Chief Villager refused to take his money; and although Old Pipes said
						that he had not earned it, everyone present insisted that, as he would now
						play on his pipes as before, he should lose nothing because, for a time, he
						was unable to perform his duty.</p>
					<p>So Old Pipes was obliged to keep his money, and after an hour or two spent in
						conversation with his friends he returned to his cottage.</p>
					<p>There was one person, however, who was not pleased with what had happened to
						Old Pipes. This was an Echo-dwarf who lived on the hills across the valley.
						It was his work to echo back the notes of the pipes whenever they could be
						heard.</p>
					<p>A great many other Echo-dwarfs lived on these hills. They all worked, but in
						different ways. Some echoed back the songs of maidens, some the shouts of
						children, and others the music that was often heard in the village. But
						there was only one who could send back the strong notes of the pipes of Old
						Pipes, and this had been his sole duty for many years. But when the old man
						grew feeble, and the notes of his pipes could not be heard on the opposite
						hills, this Echo-dwarf had nothing to do, and he spent his time in
						delightful idleness; and he slept so much and grew so fat that it made his
						companions laugh to see him walk. <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="240"
							id="Page_240">240</span></p>
					<p>On the afternoon on which, after so long an interval, the sound of the pipes
						was heard on the echo hills, this dwarf was fast asleep behind a rock. As
						soon as the first notes reached them, some of his companions ran to wake him
						up. Rolling to his feet, he echoed back the merry tune of Old Pipes.</p>
					<p>Naturally, he was very angry at being thus obliged to give up his life of
						comfort, and he hoped very much that this pipe-playing would not occur
						again. The next afternoon he was awake and listening, and, sure enough, at
						the usual hour, along came the notes of the pipes as clear and strong as
						they ever had been; and he was obliged to work as long as Old Pipes played.
						The Echo-dwarf was very angry. He had supposed, of course, that the
						pipe-playing had ceased forever, and he felt that he had a right to be
						indignant at being thus deceived. He was so much disturbed that he made up
						his mind to go and try to find out how long this was to last. He had plenty
						of time, as the pipes were played but once a day, and he set off early in
						the morning for the hill on which Old Pipes lived. It was hard work for the
						fat little fellow, and when he had crossed the valley and had gone some
						distance into the woods on the hill-side, he stopped to rest, and in a few
						minutes the Dryad came tripping along.</p>
					<p>"Ho, ho!" exclaimed the dwarf; "what are you doing here? and how did you get
						out of your tree?"</p>
					<p>"Doing!" cried the Dryad; "I am being happy; that's what I am doing. And I
						was let out of my tree by the good old man who plays the pipes to call the
						cattle down from the mountain. And it makes me happier to think that I have
						been of service to him. I gave him two kisses of gratitude, and now he is
						young enough to play his pipes as well as ever."</p>
					<p>The Echo-dwarf stepped forward, his face pale with passion. "Am I to
						believe," he said, "that you are the cause of this great evil that has come
						upon me? and that you are the wicked creature who has again started this old
						man upon his career of pipe-playing? What have I ever done to you that you
						should have condemned me for years and years to echo back the notes of those
						wretched pipes?"</p>
					<p>At this the Dryad laughed loudly.</p>
					<p>"What a funny little fellow you are!" she said. "Anyone would think you had
						been condemned to toil from morning till night; while what you really have
						to do is merely to imitate for half an hour every day the merry notes of Old
						Pipes's piping. Fie upon you, Echo-dwarf! You are lazy and selfish; and that
						is what is the matter with you. Instead of grumbling at being obliged to do
						a little wholesome work, which is less, I am sure, than that of any other
						echo-dwarf upon the rocky hill-side, you should rejoice at the good fortune
						of the old man who has regained so much of his strength and vigor. Go home
						and learn to be just and generous; and then, perhaps, you may be happy.
						Good-by."</p>
					<p>"Insolent creature!" shouted the dwarf, as he shook his fat little fist at
						her. "I'll make you suffer for this. You shall find out what it is to heap
						injury and insult upon one like me, and to snatch from him the repose that
						he has earned by long years of toil." And, shaking his head savagely, he
						hurried back to the rocky hill-side.</p>
					<p>Every afternoon the merry notes of <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="241"
							id="Page_241">241</span> the pipes of Old Pipes sounded down into the valley
						and over the hills and up the mountain-side; and every afternoon when he had
						echoed them back, the little dwarf grew more and more angry with the Dryad.
						Each day, from early morning till it was time for him to go back to his
						duties upon the rocky hill-side, he searched the woods for her. He intended,
						if he met her, to pretend to be very sorry for what he had said, and he
						thought he might be able to play a trick upon her which would avenge him
						well.</p>
					<p>One day, while thus wandering among the trees, he met Old Pipes. The
						Echo-dwarf did not generally care to see or speak to ordinary people; but
						now he was so anxious to find the object of his search, that he stopped and
						asked Old Pipes if he had seen the Dryad. The piper had not noticed the
						little fellow, and he looked down on him with some surprise.</p>
					<p>"No," he said; "I have not seen her, and I have been looking everywhere for
						her."</p>
					<p>"You!" cried the dwarf, "what do you wish with her?"</p>
					<p>Old Pipes then sat down on a stone, so that he should be nearer the ear of
						his small companion, and he told what the Dryad had done for him.</p>
					<p>When the Echo-dwarf heard that this was the man whose pipes he was obliged to
						echo back every day, he would have slain him on the spot, had he been able;
						but, as he was not able, he merely ground his teeth and listened to the rest
						of the story.</p>
					<p>"I am looking for the Dryad now," Old Pipes continued, "on account of my aged
						mother. When I was old myself, I did not notice how very old my mother was;
						but now it shocks me to see how feeble her years have caused her to become;
						and I am looking for the Dryad to ask her to make my mother younger, as she
						made me."</p>
					<p>The eyes of the Echo-dwarf glistened. Here was a man who might help him in
						his plans.</p>
					<p>"Your idea is a good one," he said to Old Pipes, "and it does you honor. But
						you should know that a Dryad can make no person younger but one who lets her
						out of her tree. However, you can manage the affair very easily. All you
						need do is to find the Dryad, tell her what you want, and request her to
						step into her tree and be shut up for a short time. Then you will go and
						bring your mother to the tree; she will open it, and everything will be as
						you wish. Is not this a good plan?"</p>
					<p>"Excellent!" cried Old Pipes; "and I will go instantly and search more
						diligently for the Dryad."</p>
					<p>"Take me with you," said the Echo-dwarf. "You can easily carry me on your
						strong shoulders; and I shall be glad to help you in any way that I
						can."</p>
					<p>"Now then," said the little fellow to himself, as Old Pipes carried him
						rapidly along, "if he persuades the Dryad to get into a tree,—and she is
						quite foolish enough to do it,—and then goes away to bring his mother, I
						shall take a stone or a club and I will break off the key of that tree, so
						that nobody can ever turn it again. Then Mistress Dryad will see what she
						has brought upon herself by her behavior to me."</p>
					<p>Before long they came to the great oak tree in which the Dryad had lived, and
						at a distance they saw that beautiful creature herself coming toward
						them.</p>
					<p>"How excellently well everything happens!" said the dwarf. "Put me down, <span
							epub:type="pagebreak" title="242" id="Page_242">242</span> and I will go. Your
						business with the Dryad is more important than mine; and you need not say
						anything about my having suggested your plan to you. I am willing that you
						should have all the credit of it yourself."</p>
					<p>Old Pipes put the Echo-dwarf upon the ground, but the little rogue did not go
						away. He hid himself between some low, mossy rocks, and he was so much like
						them in color that you would not have noticed him if you had been looking
						straight at him.</p>
					<p>When the Dryad came up, Old Pipes lost no time in telling her about his
						mother, and what he wished her to do. At first, the Dryad answered nothing,
						but stood looking very sadly at Old Pipes.</p>
					<p>"Do you really wish me to go into my tree again?" she said. "I should
						dreadfully dislike to do it, for I don't know what might happen. It is not
						at all necessary, for I could make your mother younger at any time if she
						would give me the opportunity. I had already thought of making you still
						happier in this way, and several times I have waited about your cottage,
						hoping to meet your aged mother, but she never comes outside, and you know a
						Dryad cannot enter a house. I cannot imagine what put this idea into your
						head. Did you think of it yourself?"</p>
					<p>"No, I cannot say that I did," answered Old Pipes. "A little dwarf whom I met
						in the woods proposed it to me."</p>
					<p>"Oh!" cried the Dryad; "now I see through it all. It is the scheme of that
						vile Echo-dwarf—your enemy and mine. Where is he? I should like to see
						him."</p>
					<p>"I think he has gone away," said Old Pipes.</p>
					<p>"No, he has not," said the Dryad, whose quick eyes perceived the Echo-dwarf
						among the rocks, "there he is. Seize him and drag him out, I beg of
						you."</p>
					<p>Old Pipes saw the dwarf as soon as he was pointed out to him; and running to
						the rocks, he caught the little fellow by the arm and pulled him out.</p>
					<p>"Now, then," cried the Dryad, who had opened the door of the great oak, "just
						stick him in there, and we will shut him up. Then I shall be safe from his
						mischief for the rest of the time I am free."</p>
					<p>Old Pipes thrust the Echo-dwarf into the tree; the Dryad pushed the door
						shut; there was a clicking sound of bark and wood, and no one would have
						noticed that the big oak had ever had an opening in it.</p>
					<p>"There," said the Dryad; "now we need not be afraid of him. And I assure you,
						my good piper, that I shall be very glad to make your mother younger as soon
						as I can. Will you not ask her to come out and meet me?"</p>
					<p>"Of course I will," cried Old Pipes; "and I will do it without delay."</p>
					<p>And then, the Dryad by his side, he hurried to his cottage. But when he
						mentioned the matter to his mother, the old woman became very angry indeed.
						She did not believe in Dryads; and, if they really did exist, she knew they
						must be witches and sorceresses, and she would have nothing to do with them.
						If her son had ever allowed himself to be kissed by one of them, he ought to
						be ashamed of himself. As to its doing him the least bit of good, she did
						not believe a word of it. He felt better than he used to feel, but that was
						very common. She had sometimes felt that way herself, and she forbade him
						ever to mention a Dryad to her again.</p>
					<p>That afternoon, Old Pipes, feeling <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="243"
							id="Page_243">243</span> very sad that his plan in regard to his mother had
						failed, sat down upon the rock and played upon his pipes. The pleasant
						sounds went down the valley and up the hills and mountain, but, to the great
						surprise of some persons who happened to notice the fact, the notes were not
						echoed back from the rocky hill-side, but from the woods on the side of the
						valley on which Old Pipes lived. The next day many of the villagers stopped
						in their work to listen to the echo of the pipes coming from the woods. The
						sound was not as clear and strong as it used to be when it was sent back
						from the rocky hill-side, but it certainly came from among the trees. Such a
						thing as an echo changing its place in this way had never been heard of
						before, and nobody was able to explain how it could have happened. Old
						Pipes, however, knew very well that the sound came from the Echo-dwarf shut
						up in the great oak tree. The sides of the tree were thin, and the sound of
						the pipes could be heard through them, and the dwarf was obliged by the laws
						of his being to echo back those notes whenever they came to him. But Old
						Pipes thought he might get the Dryad in trouble if he let anyone know that
						the Echo-dwarf was shut up in the tree, and so he wisely said nothing about
						it.</p>
					<p>One day the two boys and the girl who had helped Old Pipes up the hill were
						playing in the woods. Stopping near the great oak tree, they heard a sound
						of knocking within it, and then a voice plainly said:</p>
					<p>"Let me out! let me out!"</p>
					<p>For a moment the children stood still in astonishment, and then one of the
						boys exclaimed:</p>
					<p>"Oh, it is a Dryad, like the one Old Pipes found! Let's let her out!"</p>
					<p>"What are you thinking of?" cried the girl. "I am the oldest of all, and I am
						only thirteen. Do you wish to be turned into crawling babies? Run! run!
						run!"</p>
					<p>And the two boys and the girl dashed down into the valley as fast as their
						legs could carry them. There was no desire in their youthful hearts to be
						made younger than they were, and for fear that their parents might think it
						well that they should commence their careers anew, they never said a word
						about finding the Dryad tree.</p>
					<p>As the summer days went on, Old Pipes's mother grew feebler and feebler. One
						day when her son was away, for he now frequently went into the woods to hunt
						or fish, or down into the valley to work, she arose from her knitting to
						prepare the simple dinner. But she felt so weak and tired that she was not
						able to do the work to which she had been so long accustomed. "Alas! alas!"
						she said, "the time has come when I am too old to work. My son will have to
						hire some one to come here and cook his meals, make his bed, and mend his
						clothes. Alas! alas! I had hoped that as long as I lived I should be able to
						do these things. But it is not so. I have grown utterly worthless, and some
						one else must prepare the dinner for my son. I wonder where he is." And
						tottering to the door, she went outside to look for him. She did not feel
						able to stand, and reaching the rustic chair, she sank into it, quite
						exhausted, and soon fell asleep.</p>
					<p>The Dryad, who had often come to the cottage to see if she could find an
						opportunity of carrying out Old Pipes's affectionate design, now happened
							by; <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="244" id="Page_244">244</span> and seeing
						that the much-desired occasion had come, she stepped up quietly behind the
						old woman and gently kissed her on each cheek, and then as quietly
						disappeared.</p>
					<p>In a few minutes the mother of Old Pipes awoke, and looking up at the sun,
						she exclaimed: "Why, it is almost dinner-time! My son will be here directly,
						and I am not ready for him." And rising to her feet, she hurried into the
						house, made the fire, set the meat and vegetables to cook, laid the cloth,
						and by the time her son arrived the meal was on the table.</p>
					<p>"How a little sleep does refresh one," she said to herself, as she was
						bustling about. She was a woman of very vigorous constitution, and at
						seventy had been a great deal stronger and more active than her son was at
						that age. The moment Old Pipes saw his mother, he knew that the Dryad had
						been there; but, while he felt as happy as a king, he was too wise to say
						anything about her.</p>
					<p>"It is astonishing how well I feel to-day," said his mother; "and either my
						hearing has improved or you speak much more plainly than you have done of
						late."</p>
					<p>The summer days went on and passed away, the leaves were falling from the
						trees, and the air was becoming cold.</p>
					<p>"Nature has ceased to be lovely," said the Dryad, "and the night winds chill
						me. It is time for me to go back into my comfortable quarters in the great
						oak. But first I must pay another visit to the cottage of Old Pipes."</p>
					<p>She found the piper and his mother sitting side by side on the rock in front
						of the door. The cattle were not to go to the mountain any more that season,
						and he was piping them down for the last time. Loud and merrily sounded the
						pipes of Old Pipes, and down the mountain-side came the cattle, the cows by
						the easiest paths, the sheep by those not quite so easy, and the goats by
						the most difficult ones among the rocks; while from the great oak tree were
						heard the echoes of the cheerful music.</p>
					<p>"How happy they look, sitting there together," said the Dryad; "and I don't
						believe it will do them a bit of harm to be still younger." And moving
						quietly up behind them, she first kissed Old Pipes on his cheek and then
						kissed his mother.</p>
					<p>Old Pipes, who had stopped playing, knew what it was, but he did not move,
						and said nothing. His mother, thinking that her son had kissed her, turned
						to him with a smile and kissed him in return. And then she arose and went
						into the cottage, a vigorous woman of sixty, followed by her son, erect and
						happy, and twenty years younger than herself.</p>
					<p>The Dryad sped away to the woods, shrugging her shoulders as she felt the
						cool evening wind.</p>
					<p>When she reached the great oak, she turned the key and opened the door. "Come
						out," said she to the Echo-dwarf, who sat blinking within. "Winter is coming
						on, and I want the comfortable shelter of my tree for myself. The cattle
						have come down from the mountain for the last time this year, the pipes will
						no longer sound, and you can go to your rocks and have a holiday until next
						spring."</p>
					<p>Upon hearing these words the dwarf skipped quickly out, and the Dryad entered
						the tree and pulled the door shut after her. "Now, then," she said to
						herself, "he can break off the key if he likes. It does not matter to me. <span
							epub:type="pagebreak" title="245" id="Page_245">245</span> Another will grow
						out next spring. And although the good piper made me no promise, I know that
						when the warm days arrive next year, he will come and let me out again."</p>
					<p>The Echo-dwarf did not stop to break the key of the tree. He was too happy to
						be released to think of anything else, and he hastened as fast as he could
						to his home on the rocky hill-side.</p>
					<p>The Dryad was not mistaken when she trusted in the piper. When the warm days
						came again he went to the oak tree to let her out. But, to his sorrow and
						surprise, he found the great tree lying upon the ground. A winter storm had
						blown it down, and it lay with its trunk shattered and split. And what
						became of the Dryad no one ever knew.</p>
				</section>
			</section>
			
			<section id="pgepubid00602">
				<h3>204</h3>
				
				<p class="intro">John Ruskin (1819-1900), the most eloquent of English prose
					writers, was much interested in the question of literature for both grown-ups
					and children. He edited a reissue of Taylor's translation of Grimms' <cite>Popular
						Stories</cite>, issued "Dame Wiggins of Lee and Her Seven Wonderful Cats" (see
					No. 143), and wrote that masterpiece among modern stories for children, <cite>The
						King of the Golden River</cite>. Its fine idealism, splendidly imagined
					structure, wonderful word-paintings, and perfect English all combine to justify
					the high place assigned to it. Ruskin wrote the story in 1841, at a "couple of
					sittings," though it was not published until ten years later. Speaking of it
					later in life, he said that it "was written to amuse a little girl; and being a
					fairly good imitation of Grimm and Dickens, mixed with a little true Alpine
					feeling of my own, it has been rightly pleasing to nice children, and good for
					them. But it is totally valueless, for all that. I can no more write a story
					than compose a picture." The final statement may be taken for what it is worth,
					written as it was at a time of disillusionment. The first part of Ruskin's
					analysis is certainly true and has been thus expanded by his biographer, Sir E.
					T. Cook: "The grotesque and the German setting of the tale were taken from
					Grimm; from Dickens it took its tone of pervading kindliness and geniality. The
					Alpine ecstasy and the eager pressing of the moral were Ruskin's own; and so
					also is the style, delicately poised between poetry and comedy."</p>
				
				<section id="pgepubid00603">
					<h4>THE KING OF THE GOLDEN RIVER<br /> OR<br /> THE BLACK
						BROTHERS</h4>
					<div epub:type="z3998:author">JOHN RUSKIN</div>
					
					<section>
						<h5>CHAPTER I<br /> HOW THE AGRICULTURAL SYSTEM OF THE BLACK BROTHERS WAS
							INTERFERED WITH BY SOUTH-WEST WIND, ESQUIRE</h5>
						<p>In a secluded and mountainous part of Stiria there was, in old time, a
							valley of the most surprising and luxuriant fertility. It was
							surrounded, on all sides, by steep and rocky mountains, rising into
							peaks, which were always covered with snow, and from which a number of
							torrents descended in constant cataracts. One of these fell westward,
							over the face of a crag so high, that, when the sun had set to
							everything else, and all below was darkness, his beams still shone full
							upon this waterfall, so that it looked like a shower of gold. It was,
							therefore, called by the people of the neighborhood, the Golden River.
							It was strange that none of these streams fell into the valley itself.
							They all descended on the other side of the mountains, and wound away
							through broad plains and by populous cities. But the clouds were drawn
							so constantly to the snowy hills, and rested so softly <span
								epub:type="pagebreak" title="246" id="Page_246">246</span> in the circular
							hollow, that in time of drought and heat, when all the country round was
							burnt up, there was still rain in the little valley; and its crops were
							so heavy, and its hay so high, and its apples so red, and its grapes so
							blue, and its wine so rich, and its honey so sweet, that it was a marvel
							to every one who beheld it, and was commonly called the Treasure
							Valley.</p>
						<p>The whole of this little valley belonged to three brothers, called
							Schwartz, Hans, and Gluck. Schwartz and Hans, the two elder brothers,
							were very ugly men, with overhanging eyebrows and small dull eyes, which
							were always half shut, so that you couldn't see into <em>them</em>, and
							always fancied they saw very far into <em>you</em>. They lived by farming
							the Treasure Valley, and very good farmers they were. They killed
							everything that did not pay for its eating. They shot the blackbirds
							because they pecked the fruit; and killed the hedgehogs, lest they
							should suck the cows; they poisoned the crickets for eating the crumbs
							in the kitchen; and smothered the cicadas, which used to sing all summer
							in the lime trees. They worked their servants without any wages, till
							they would not work any more, and then quarreled with them, and turned
							them out of doors without paying them. It would have been very odd if,
							with such a farm, and such a system of farming, they hadn't got very
							rich; and very rich they <em>did</em> get. They generally contrived to
							keep their corn by them till it was very dear, and then sell it for
							twice its value; they had heaps of gold lying about on their floors, yet
							it was never known that they had given so much as a penny or a crust in
							charity; they never went to mass; grumbled perpetually at paying tithes;
							and were, in a word, of so cruel and grinding a temper as to receive
							from all those with whom they had any dealings the nickname of the
							"Black Brothers."</p>
						<p>The youngest brother, Gluck, was as completely opposed, in both
							appearance and character, to his seniors as could possibly be imagined
							or desired. He was not above twelve years old, fair, blue-eyed, and kind
							in temper to every living thing. He did not, of course, agree
							particularly well with his brothers, or rather, they did not agree with
								<em>him</em>. He was usually appointed to the honorable office of
							turnspit, when there was anything to roast, which was not often; for, to
							do the brothers justice, they were hardly less sparing upon themselves
							than upon other people. At other times he used to clean the shoes,
							floors, and sometimes the plates, occasionally getting what was left on
							them, by way of encouragement, and a wholesome quantity of dry blows, by
							way of education.</p>
						<p>Things went on in this manner for a long time. At last came a very wet
							summer, and everything went wrong in the country around. The hay had
							hardly been got in, when the haystacks were floated bodily down to the
							sea by an inundation; the vines were cut to pieces with the hail; the
							corn was all killed by a black blight; only in the Treasure Valley, as
							usual, all was safe. As it had rain when there was rain nowhere else, so
							it had sun when there was sun nowhere else. Everybody came to buy corn
							at the farm, and went away pouring maledictions on the Black Brothers.
							They asked what they liked, and got it, except from the poor people, who
							could only beg, and several of whom were starved at their very door,
							without the slightest regard or notice. <span epub:type="pagebreak"
								title="247" id="Page_247">247</span></p>
						<p>It was drawing towards winter, and very cold weather, when one day the
							two elder brothers had gone out, with their usual warning to little
							Gluck, who was left to mind the roast, that he was to let nobody in, and
							give nothing out. Gluck sat down quite close to the fire, for it was
							raining very hard, and the kitchen walls were by no means dry or
							comfortable looking. He turned and turned, and the roast got nice and
							brown. "What a pity," thought Gluck, "my brothers never ask anybody to
							dinner. I'm sure, when they've got such a nice piece of mutton as this,
							and nobody else has got so much as a piece of dry bread, it would do
							their hearts good to have somebody to eat it with them."</p>
						<p>Just as he spoke, there came a double knock at the house door, yet heavy
							and dull, as though the knocker had been tied up—more like a puff than a
							knock.</p>
						<p>"It must be the wind," said Gluck; "nobody else would venture to knock
							double knocks at our door."</p>
						<p>No; it wasn't the wind; there it came again very hard, and what was
							particularly astounding, the knocker seemed to be in a hurry, and not to
							be in the least afraid of the consequences. Gluck went to the window,
							opened it, and put his head out to see who it was.</p>
						<p>It was the most extraordinary looking little gentleman he had ever seen
							in his life. He had a very large nose, slightly brass-colored; his
							cheeks were very round, and very red, and might have warranted a
							supposition that he had been blowing a refractory fire for the last
							eight-and-forty hours; his eyes twinkled merrily through long silky
							eyelashes, his mustaches curled twice round like a corkscrew on each
							side of his mouth, and his hair, of a curious mixed pepper-and-salt
							color, descended far over his shoulders. He was about four-feet-six in
							height, and wore a conical pointed cap of nearly the same altitude,
							decorated with a black feather some three feet long. His doublet was
							prolonged behind into something resembling a violent exaggeration of
							what is now termed a "swallowtail," but was much obscured by the
							swelling folds of an enormous black, glossy-looking cloak, which must
							have been very much too long in calm weather, as the wind, whistling
							round the old house, carried it clear out from the wearer's shoulders to
							about four times his own length.</p>
						<p>Gluck was so perfectly paralyzed by the singular appearance of his
							visitor, that he remained fixed without uttering a word, until the old
							gentleman, having performed another, and a more energetic concerto on
							the knocker, turned round to look after his fly-away cloak. In so doing
							he caught sight of Gluck's little yellow head jammed in the window, with
							its mouth and eyes very wide open indeed.</p>
						<p>"Hollo!" said the little gentleman, "that's not the way to answer the
							door: I'm wet; let me in!"</p>
						<p>To do the little gentleman justice, he <em>was</em> wet. His feather hung
							down between his legs like a beaten puppy's tail, dripping like an
							umbrella; and from the ends of his mustaches the water was running into
							his waistcoat pockets, and out again like a mill stream.</p>
						<p>"I beg pardon, sir," said Gluck, "I'm very sorry, but I really
							can't."</p>
						<p>"Can't what?" said the old gentleman.</p>
						<p>"I can't let you in, sir,—I can't indeed; my brothers would beat me to
							death, sir, if I thought of such a thing. What do you want, sir?" <span
								epub:type="pagebreak" title="248" id="Page_248">248</span></p>
						<p>"Want?" said the old gentleman, petulantly. "I want fire, and shelter;
							and there's your great fire there blazing, crackling, and dancing on the
							walls, with nobody to feel it. Let me in, I say; I only want to warm
							myself."</p>
						<p>Gluck had had his head, by this time, so long out of the window, that he
							began to feel it was really unpleasantly cold, and when he turned, and
							saw the beautiful fire rustling and roaring, and throwing long bright
							tongues up the chimney, as if it were licking its chops at the savory
							smell of the leg of mutton, his heart melted within him that it should
							be burning away for nothing. "He does look <em>very</em> wet," said little
							Gluck; "I'll just let him in for a quarter of an hour." Round he went to
							the door, and opened it; and as the little gentleman walked in, there
							came a gust of wind through the house that made the old chimneys
							totter.</p>
						<p>"That's a good boy," said the little gentleman. "Never mind your
							brothers. I'll talk to them."</p>
						<p>"Pray, sir, don't do any such thing," said Gluck. "I can't let you stay
							till they come; they'd be the death of me."</p>
						<p>"Dear me," said the old gentleman, "I'm very sorry to hear that. How long
							may I stay?"</p>
						<p>"Only till the mutton's done, sir," replied Gluck, "and it's very
							brown."</p>
						<p>Then the old gentleman walked into the kitchen, and sat himself down on
							the hob, with the top of his cap accommodated up the chimney, for it was
							a great deal too high for the roof.</p>
						<p>"You'll soon dry there, sir," said Gluck, and sat down again to turn the
							mutton. But the old gentleman did <em>not</em> dry there, but went on
							drip, drip, dripping among the cinders, and the fire fizzed and
							sputtered, and began to look very black and uncomfortable; never was
							such a cloak; every fold in it ran like a gutter.</p>
						<p>"I beg pardon, sir," said Gluck at length, after watching the water
							spreading in long, quicksilver-like streams over the floor for a quarter
							of an hour; "mayn't I take your cloak?"</p>
						<p>"No thank you," said the old gentleman.</p>
						<p>"Your cap, sir?"</p>
						<p>"I am all right, thank you," said the old gentleman rather gruffly.</p>
						<p>"But—sir—I'm very sorry," said Gluck hesitatingly; "but—really,
							sir—you're—putting the fire out."</p>
						<p>"It'll take longer to do the mutton, then," replied his visitor
							dryly.</p>
						<p>Gluck was very much puzzled by the behavior of his guest; it was such a
							strange mixture of coolness and humility. He turned away at the string
							meditatively for another five minutes.</p>
						<p>"That mutton looks very nice," said the old gentleman at length. "Can't
							you give me a little bit?"</p>
						<p>"Impossible, sir," said Gluck.</p>
						<p>"I'm very hungry," continued the old gentleman; "I've had nothing to eat
							yesterday nor to-day. They surely couldn't miss a bit from the
							knuckle!"</p>
						<p>He spoke in so very melancholy a tone that it quite melted Gluck's heart.
							"They promised me one slice to-day, sir," said he; "I can give you that,
							but not a bit more."</p>
						<p>"That's a good boy," said the old gentleman again.</p>
						<p>Then Gluck warmed a plate, and sharpened a knife. "I don't care if I do
							get beaten for it," thought he. Just as he had cut a large slice out of
							the mutton, there came a tremendous rap at the door. The old gentleman
								jumped <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="249" id="Page_249">249</span> off
							the hob, as if it had suddenly become inconveniently warm. Gluck fitted
							the slice into the mutton again, with desperate efforts at exactitude,
							and ran to open the door.</p>
						<p>"What did you keep us waiting in the rain for?" said Schwartz, as he
							walked in, throwing his umbrella in Gluck's face. "Ay! what for, indeed,
							you little vagabond?" said Hans, administering an educational box on the
							ear, as he followed his brother into the kitchen.</p>
						<p>"Bless my soul!" said Schwartz when he opened the door.</p>
						<p>"Amen," said the little gentleman, who had taken his cap off and was
							standing in the middle of the kitchen, bowing with the utmost possible
							velocity.</p>
						<p>"Who's that?" said Schwartz, catching up a rolling-pin, and turning to
							Gluck with a fierce frown.</p>
						<p>"I don't know, indeed, brother," said Gluck in great terror.</p>
						<p>"How did he get in?" roared Schwartz.</p>
						<p>"My dear brother," said Gluck, deprecatingly, "he was so <em>very</em>
							wet!"</p>
						<p>The rolling-pin was descending on Gluck's head; but, at the instant, the
							old gentleman interposed his conical cap, on which it crashed with a
							shock that shook the water out of it all over the room. What was very
							odd, the rolling pin no sooner touched the cap, than it flew out of
							Schwartz's hand, spinning like a straw in a high wind, and fell into the
							corner at the farther end of the room.</p>
						<p>"Who are you, sir?" demanded Schwartz, turning upon him.</p>
						<p>"What's your business?" snarled Hans.</p>
						<p>"I'm a poor old man, sir," the little gentleman began very modestly, "and
							I saw your fire through the window, and begged shelter for a quarter of
							an hour."</p>
						<p>"Have the goodness to walk out again, then," said Schwartz. "We've quite
							enough water in our kitchen, without making it a drying house."</p>
						<p>"It is a cold day to turn an old man out in, sir; look at my gray hairs."
							They hung down to his shoulders, as I told you before.</p>
						<p>"Ay!" said Hans, "there are enough of them to keep you warm. Walk!"</p>
						<p>"I'm very, very hungry, sir; couldn't you spare me a bit of bread before
							I go?"</p>
						<p>"Bread, indeed!" said Schwartz; "do you suppose we've nothing to do with
							our bread but to give it to such red-nosed fellows as you?"</p>
						<p>"Why don't you sell your feather?" said Hans, sneeringly. "Out with
							you!"</p>
						<p>"A little bit," said the old gentleman.</p>
						<p>"Be off!" said Schwartz.</p>
						<p>"Pray, gentlemen—"</p>
						<p>"Off, and be hanged!" cried Hans, seizing him by the collar. But he had
							no sooner touched the old gentleman's collar, than away he went after
							the rolling-pin, spinning round and round, till he fell into the corner
							on the top of it. Then Schwartz was very angry, and ran at the old
							gentleman to turn him out; but he also had hardly touched him, when away
							he went after Hans and the rolling-pin, and hit his head against the
							wall as he tumbled into the corner. And so there they lay, all
							three.</p>
						<p>Then the old gentleman spun himself round with velocity in the opposite
							direction; continued to spin until his long cloak was all wound neatly
							about him, clapped his cap on his head, very much on one side (for it
							could not stand upright without going through the ceiling), gave an
							additional twist to his corkscrew mustaches, and replied with perfect
							coolness: "Gentlemen, I wish you <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="250"
								id="Page_250">250</span> a very good morning. At twelve o'clock to-night
							I'll call again; after such a refusal of hospitality as I have just
							experienced, you will not be surprised if that visit is the last I ever
							pay you."</p>
						<p>"If ever I catch you here again," muttered Schwartz, coming, half
							frightened, out of the corner—but, before he could finish his sentence,
							the old gentleman had shut the house door behind him with a great bang:
							and there drove past the window, at the same instant, a wreath of ragged
							cloud that whirled and rolled away down the valley in all manner of
							shapes; turning over and over in the air, and melting away at last in a
							gush of rain.</p>
						<p>"A very pretty business, indeed, Mr. Gluck!" said Schwartz. "Dish the
							mutton, sir. If ever I catch you at such a trick again—bless me, why the
							mutton's been cut!"</p>
						<p>"You promised me one slice, brother, you know," said Gluck.</p>
						<p>"Oh! and you were cutting it hot, I suppose, and going to catch all the
							gravy. It'll be long before I promise you such a thing again. Leave the
							room, sir; and have the kindness to wait in the coal-cellar till I call
							you."</p>
						<p>Gluck left the room melancholy enough. The brothers ate as much mutton as
							they could, locked the rest in the cupboard, and proceeded to get very
							drunk after dinner.</p>
						<p>Such a night as it was! Howling wind and rushing rain, without
							intermission! The brothers had just sense enough left to put up all the
							shutters, and double bar the door, before they went to bed. They usually
							slept in the same room. As the clock struck twelve, they were both
							awakened by a tremendous crash. Their door burst open with a violence
							that shook the house from top to bottom.</p>
						<p>"What's that?" cried Schwartz, starting up in his bed.</p>
						<p>"Only I," said the little gentleman.</p>
						<p>The two brothers sat up on their bolster and stared into the darkness.
							The room was full of water, and by a misty moonbeam, which found its way
							through a hole in the shutter, they could see in the midst of it an
							enormous foam globe, spinning round, and bobbing up and down like a
							cork, on which, as on a most luxurious cushion, reclined the little old
							gentleman, cap and all. There was plenty of room for it now, for the
							roof was off.</p>
						<p>"Sorry to incommode you," said their visitor, ironically. "I'm afraid
							your beds are dampish; perhaps you had better go to your brother's room;
							I've left the ceiling on, there."</p>
						<p>They required no second admonition, but rushed into Gluck's room, wet
							through, and in an agony of terror.</p>
						<p>"You'll find my card on the kitchen table," the old gentleman called
							after them. "Remember, the <em>last</em> visit."</p>
						<p>"Pray Heaven it may!" said Schwartz, shuddering. And the foam globe
							disappeared.</p>
						<p>Dawn came at last, and the two brothers looked out of Gluck's little
							window in the morning. The Treasure Valley was one mass of ruin and
							desolation. The inundation had swept away trees, crops, and cattle, and
							left in their stead a waste of red sand and gray mud. The two brothers
							crept shivering and horror-struck into the kitchen. The water had gutted
							the whole first floor; corn, money, almost every movable thing had been
							swept away, and there was left only a small white card on the kitchen
							table. On it, in large, breezy <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="251"
								id="Page_251">251</span> long-legged letters, were engraved the
							words:—</p>
						<div class="center"><span class="smcap">South-West Wind,
							Esquire</span>.</div>
					</section>
					<section>
						<h5>CHAPTER II <br /> OF THE PROCEEDINGS OF THE THREE BROTHERS AFTER THE
							VISIT OF SOUTH-WEST WIND, ESQUIRE; AND HOW LITTLE GLUCK HAD AN INTERVIEW
							WITH THE KING OF THE GOLDEN RIVER</h5>
						<p>South-West Wind, Esquire, was as good as his word. After the momentous
							visit above related, he entered the Treasure Valley no more; and, what
							was worse, he had so much influence with his relations, the West Winds
							in general, and used it so effectually, that they all adopted a similar
							line of conduct. So no rain fell in the valley from one year's end to
							another. Though everything remained green and flourishing in the plains
							below, the inheritance of the Three Brothers was a desert. What had once
							been the richest soil in the kingdom, became a shifting heap of red
							sand; and the brothers, unable longer to contend with the adverse skies,
							abandoned their valueless patrimony in despair, to seek some means of
							gaining a livelihood among the cities and people of the plains. All
							their money was gone, and they had nothing left but some curious,
							old-fashioned pieces of gold plates, the last remnants of their
							ill-gotten wealth.</p>
						<p>"Suppose we turn goldsmiths?" said Schwartz to Hans, as they entered the
							large city. "It is a good knave's trade; we can put a great deal of
							copper into the gold, without any one's finding it out."</p>
						<p>The thought was agreed to be a very good one; they hired a furnace, and
							turned goldsmiths. But two slight circumstances affected their trade;
							the first, that people did not approve of the coppered gold; the second,
							that the two elder brothers, whenever they had sold anything, used to
							leave little Gluck to mind the furnace, and go and drink out the money
							in the ale-house next door. So they melted all their gold, without
							making money enough to buy more, and were at last reduced to one large
							drinking mug, which an uncle of his had given to little Gluck, and which
							he was very fond of, and would not have parted with for the world;
							though he never drank anything out of it but milk and water. The mug was
							a very odd mug to look at. The handle was formed of two wreaths of
							flowing golden hair, so finely spun that it looked more like silk than
							metal, and these wreaths descended into, and mixed with, a beard and
							whiskers of the same exquisite workmanship, which surrounded and
							decorated a very fierce little face, of the reddest gold imaginable,
							right in the front of the mug, with a pair of eyes in it which seemed to
							command its whole circumference. It was impossible to drink out of the
							mug without being subjected to an intense gaze out of the side of these
							eyes; and Schwartz positively averred that once, after emptying it, full
							of Rhenish, seventeen times, he had seen them wink! When it came to the
							mug's turn to be made into spoons, it half broke poor little Gluck's
							heart; but the brothers only laughed at him, tossed the mug into the
							melting-pot, and staggered out to the ale-house; leaving him, as usual,
							to pour the gold into bars, when it was all ready.</p>
						<p>When they were gone, Gluck took a farewell look at his old friend in the
							melting-pot. The flowing hair was all gone; nothing remained but the red
								nose, <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="252" id="Page_252">252</span> and the
							sparkling eyes, which looked more malicious than ever. "And no wonder,"
							thought Gluck, "after being treated in that way." He sauntered
							disconsolately to the window, and sat himself down to catch the fresh
							evening air, and escape the hot breath of the furnace. Now this window
							commanded a direct view of the range of mountains, which, as I told you
							before, overhung the Treasure Valley, and more especially of the peak
							from which fell the Golden River. It was just at the close of the day,
							and when Gluck sat down at the window, he saw the rocks of the mountain
							tops, all crimson and purple with the sunset; and there were bright
							tongues of fiery cloud burning and quivering about them; and the river,
							brighter than all, fell, in a waving column of pure gold, from precipice
							to precipice, with the double arch of a broad purple rainbow stretched
							across it, flushing and fading alternately in the wreaths of spray.</p>
						<p>"Ah!" said Gluck aloud, after he had looked at it for a while, "if that
							river were really all gold, what a nice thing it would be."</p>
						<p>"No, it wouldn't, Gluck," said a clear metallic voice, close at his
							ear.</p>
						<p>"Bless me! what's that?" exclaimed Gluck, jumping up. There was nobody
							there. He looked round the room, and under the table, and a great many
							times behind him, but there was certainly nobody there, and he sat down
							again at the window. This time he didn't speak, but he couldn't help
							thinking again that it would be very convenient if the river were really
							all gold.</p>
						<p>"Not at all, my boy," said the same voice, louder than before.</p>
						<p>"Bless me!" said Gluck again; "what <em>is</em> that?" He looked again into
							all the corners, and cupboards, and then began turning round, and round,
							as fast as he could in the middle of the room, thinking there was
							somebody behind him, when the same voice struck again on his ear. It was
							singing now very merrily, "Lala-lira-la"; no words, only a soft running
							effervescent melody, something like that of a kettle on the boil. Gluck
							looked out of the window. No, it was certainly in the house. Upstairs,
							and downstairs. No, it was certainly in that very room, coming in
							quicker time, and clearer notes, every moment. "Lala-lira-la." All at
							once it struck Gluck that it sounded louder near the furnace. He ran to
							the opening, and looked in; yes, he saw right, it seemed to be coming,
							not only out of the furnace, but out of the pot. He uncovered it, and
							ran back in a great fright, for the pot was certainly singing! He stood
							in the farthest corner of the room, with his hands up, and his mouth
							open, for a minute or two, when the singing stopped, and the voice
							became clear, and pronunciative.</p>
						<p>"Hollo!" said the voice.</p>
						<p>Gluck made no answer.</p>
						<p>"Hollo! Gluck, my boy," said the pot again.</p>
						<p>Gluck summoned all his energies, walked straight up to the crucible, drew
							it out of the furnace, and looked in. The gold was all melted, and its
							surface as smooth and polished as a river; but instead of reflecting
							little Gluck's head, as he looked in, he saw, meeting his glance from
							beneath the gold, the red nose and sharp eyes of his old friend of the
							mug, a thousand times redder and sharper than ever he had seen them in
							his life.</p>
						<p>"Come, Gluck, my boy," said the voice out of the pot again, "I'm all
							right; pour me out." <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="253"
								id="Page_253">253</span></p>
						<p>But Gluck was too much astonished to do anything of the kind.</p>
						<p>"Pour me out, I say," said the voice rather gruffly.</p>
						<p>Still Gluck couldn't move.</p>
						<p>"<em>Will</em> you pour me out?" said the voice passionately. "I'm too
							hot."</p>
						<p>By a violent effort, Gluck recovered the use of his limbs, took hold of
							the crucible, and sloped it so as to pour out the gold. But instead of a
							liquid stream, there came out, first, a pair of pretty little yellow
							legs, then some coat tails, then a pair of arms stuck a-kimbo, and,
							finally, the well-known head of his friend the mug; all which articles,
							uniting as they rolled out, stood up energetically on the floor, in the
							shape of a little golden dwarf, about a foot and a half high.</p>
						<p>"That's right!" said the dwarf, stretching out first his legs and then
							his arms, and then shaking his head up and down, and as far round as it
							would go, for five minutes, without stopping; apparently with the view
							of ascertaining if he were quite correctly put together, while Gluck
							stood contemplating him in speechless amazement. He was dressed in a
							slashed doublet of spun gold, so fine in its texture that the prismatic
							colors gleamed over it, as if on a surface of mother of pearl; and, over
							this brilliant doublet, his hair and beard fell full halfway to the
							ground in waving curls so exquisitely delicate that Gluck could hardly
							tell where they ended; they seemed to melt into air. The features of the
							face, however, were by no means finished with the same delicacy; they
							were rather coarse, slightly inclining to coppery in complexion, and
							indicative, in expression, of a very pertinacious and intractable
							disposition in their small proprietor. When the dwarf had finished his
							self-examination, he turned his small sharp eyes full on Gluck and
							stared at him deliberately for a minute or two. "No, it wouldn't, Gluck,
							my boy," said the little man.</p>
						<p>This was certainly rather an abrupt and unconnected mode of commencing
							conversation. It might indeed be supposed to refer to the course of
							Gluck's thoughts, which had first produced the dwarf's observations out
							of the pot; but whatever it referred to, Gluck had no inclination to
							dispute the dictum.</p>
						<p>"Wouldn't it, sir?" said Gluck, very mildly and submissively indeed.</p>
						<p>"No," said the dwarf, conclusively. "No, it wouldn't." And with that, the
							dwarf pulled his cap hard over his brows, and took two turns, of three
							feet long, up and down the room, lifting his legs up very high, and
							setting them down very hard. This pause gave time for Gluck to collect
							his thoughts a little, and, seeing no great reason to view his
							diminutive visitor with dread, and feeling his curiosity overcome his
							amazement, he ventured on a question of peculiar delicacy.</p>
						<p>"Pray, sir," said Gluck rather hesitatingly, "were you my mug?"</p>
						<p>On which the little man turned sharp round, walked straight up to Gluck,
							and drew himself up to his full height. "I," said the little man, "am
							the King of the Golden River." Whereupon he turned about again, and took
							two more turns, some six feet long, in order to allow time for the
							consternation which this announcement produced in his auditor to
							evaporate. After which, he again walked up to Gluck and stood still, as
							if expecting some comment on his communication.</p>
						<p>Gluck determined to say something at all events. "I hope your Majesty is
							very well," said Gluck. <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="254"
								id="Page_254">254</span></p>
						<p>"Listen!" said the little man, deigning no reply to this polite inquiry.
							"I am the King of what you mortals call the Golden River. The shape you
							saw me in, was owing to the malice of a stronger king, from whose
							enchantments you have this instant freed me. What I have seen of you,
							and your conduct to your wicked brothers, renders me willing to serve
							you; therefore, attend to what I tell you. Whoever shall climb to the
							top of that mountain from which you see the Golden River issue, and
							shall cast into the stream at its source three drops of holy water, for
							him, and for him only, the river shall turn to gold. But no one failing
							in his first, can succeed in a second attempt; and if any one shall cast
							unholy water into the river, it will overwhelm him, and he will become a
							black stone." So saying, the King of the Golden River turned away and
							deliberately walked into the center of the hottest flame of the furnace.
							His figure became red, white, transparent, dazzling—a blaze of intense
							light—rose, trembled, and disappeared. The King of the Golden River had
							evaporated.</p>
						<p>"Oh!" cried poor Gluck, running to look up the chimney after him; "Oh,
							dear, dear, dear me! My mug! my mug! my mug!"</p>
					</section>
					<section>
						<h5>CHAPTER III<br /> HOW MR. HANS SET OFF ON AN EXPEDITION TO THE GOLDEN
							RIVER, AND HOW HE PROSPERED THEREIN</h5>
						<p>The King of the Golden River had hardly made the extraordinary exit,
							related in the last chapter, before Hans and Schwartz came roaring into
							the house, very savagely drunk. The discovery of the total loss of their
							last piece of plate had the effect of sobering them just enough to
							enable them to stand over Gluck, beating him very steadily for a quarter
							of an hour; at the expiration of which period they dropped into a couple
							of chairs, and requested to know what he had got to say for himself.
							Gluck told them his story, of which, of course, they did not believe a
							word. They beat him again, till their arms were tired, and staggered to
							bed. In the morning, however, the steadiness with which he adhered to
							his story obtained him some degree of credence; the immediate
							consequence of which was, that the two brothers, after wrangling a long
							time on the knotty question, which of them should try his fortune first,
							drew their swords and began fighting. The noise of the fray alarmed the
							neighbors, who, finding they could not pacify the combatants, sent for
							the constable.</p>
						<p>Hans, on hearing this, contrived to escape, and hid himself; but Schwartz
							was taken before the magistrate, fined for breaking the peace, and,
							having drunk out his last penny the evening before, was thrown into
							prison till he should pay.</p>
						<p>When Hans heard this, he was much delighted, and determined to set out
							immediately for the Golden River. How to get the holy water was the
							question. He went to the priest, but the priest could not give any holy
							water to so abandoned a character. So Hans went to vespers in the
							evening for the first time in his life, and, under pretense of crossing
							himself, stole a cupful, and returned home in triumph.</p>
						<p>Next morning he got up before the sun rose, put the holy water into a
							strong flask, and two bottles of wine and some meat in a basket, slung
							them over his back, took his alpine staff in his hand, and set off for
							the mountains. <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="255" id="Page_255"
							/></p>
						<p>On his way out of the town he had to pass the prison, and as he looked in
							at the windows, whom should he see but Schwartz himself peeping out of
							the bars, and looking very disconsolate.</p>
						<p>"Good morning, brother," said Hans; "have you any message for the King of
							the Golden River?"</p>
						<p>Schwartz gnashed his teeth with rage, and shook the bars with all his
							strength; but Hans only laughed at him, and advising him to make himself
							comfortable till he came back again, shouldered his basket, shook the
							bottle of holy water in Schwartz's face till it frothed again, and
							marched off in the highest spirits in the world.</p>
						<p>It was, indeed, a morning that might have made any one happy, even with
							no Golden River to seek for. Level lines of dewy mist lay stretched
							along the valley, out of which rose the massy mountains—their lower
							cliffs in pale gray shadow, hardly distinguishable from the floating
							vapor, but gradually ascending till they caught the sunlight, which ran
							in sharp touches of ruddy color along the angular crags, and pierced, in
							long level rays, through their fringes of spear-like pine. Far above,
							shot up red splintered masses of castellated rock, jagged and shivered
							into myriads of fantastic forms, with here and there a streak of sunlit
							snow, traced down their chasms like a line of forked lightning; and, far
							beyond, and far above all these, fainter than the morning cloud, but
							purer and changeless, slept, in the blue sky, the utmost peaks of the
							eternal snow.</p>
						<p>The Golden River, which sprang from one of the lower and snowless
							elevations, was now nearly in shadow; all but the uppermost jets of
							spray, which rose like slow smoke above the undulating line of the
							cataract, and floated away in feeble wreaths upon the morning wind.</p>
						<p>On this object, and on this alone, Hans's eyes and thoughts were fixed;
							forgetting the distance he had to traverse, he set off at an imprudent
							rate of walking, which greatly exhausted him before he had scaled the
							first range of the green and low hills. He was, moreover, surprised, on
							surmounting them, to find that a large glacier, of whose existence,
							notwithstanding his previous knowledge of the mountains, he had been
							absolutely ignorant, lay between him and the source of the Golden River.
							He entered on it with the boldness of a practised mountaineer; yet he
							thought he had never traversed so strange or so dangerous a glacier in
							his life. The ice was excessively slippery, and out of all its chasms
							came wild sounds of gushing water; not monotonous or low, but changeful
							and loud, rising occasionally into drifting passages of wild melody;
							then breaking off into short melancholy tones, or sudden shrieks,
							resembling those of human voices in distress or pain. The ice was broken
							into thousands of confused shapes, but none, Hans thought, like the
							ordinary forms of splintered ice. There seemed a curious
								<em>expression</em> about all their outlines—a perpetual resemblance
							to living features, distorted and scornful. Myriads of deceitful
							shadows, and lurid lights, played and floated about and through the pale
							blue pinnacles, dazzling and confusing the sight of the traveler; while
							his ears grew dull and his head giddy with the constant gush and roar of
							the concealed waters. These painful circumstances increased upon him as
							he advanced; the ice crashed and yawned into fresh chasms at his feet,
							tottering spires nodded around him, and <span epub:type="pagebreak"
								title="256" id="Page_256">256</span> fell thundering across his path; and
							though he had repeatedly faced these dangers on the most terrific
							glaciers, and in the wildest weather, it was with a new and oppressive
							feeling of panic terror that he leaped the last chasm, and flung
							himself, exhausted and shuddering, on the firm turf of the mountain.</p>
						<p>He had been compelled to abandon his basket of food, which became a
							perilous encumbrance on the glacier, and had now no means of refreshing
							himself but by breaking off and eating some of the pieces of ice. This,
							however, relieved his thirst; an hour's repose recruited his hardy
							frame, and with the indomitable spirit of avarice, he resumed his
							laborious journey.</p>
						<p>His way now lay straight up a ridge of bare red rocks, without a blade of
							grass to ease the foot, or a projecting angle to afford an inch of shade
							from the south sun. It was past noon, and the rays beat intensely upon
							the steep path, while the whole atmosphere was motionless and penetrated
							with heat. Intense thirst was soon added to the bodily fatigue with
							which Hans was now afflicted; glance after glance he cast on the flask
							of water which hung at his belt. "Three drops are enough," at last
							thought he; "I may, at least, cool my lips with it."</p>
						<p>He opened the flask, and was raising it to his lips, when his eye fell on
							an object lying on the rock beside him; he thought it moved. It was a
							small dog, apparently in the last agony of death from thirst. Its tongue
							was out, its jaws dry, its limbs extended lifelessly, and a swarm of
							black ants were crawling about its lips and throat. Its eye moved to the
							bottle which Hans held in his hand. He raised it, drank, spurned the
							animal with his foot, and passed on. And he did not know how it was, but
							he thought that a strange shadow had suddenly come across the blue
							sky.</p>
						<p>The path became steeper and more rugged every moment; and the high hill
							air, instead of refreshing him, seemed to throw his blood into a fever.
							The noise of the hill cataracts sounded like mockery in his ears; they
							were all distant, and his thirst increased every moment. Another hour
							passed, and he again looked down to the flask at his side; it was half
							empty, but there was much more than three drops in it. He stopped to
							open it; and again, as he did so, something moved in the path above him.
							It was a fair child, stretched nearly lifeless on the rock, its breast
							heaving with thirst, its eyes closed, and its lips parched and burning.
							Hans eyed it deliberately, drank, and passed on. And a dark gray cloud
							came over the sun, and long, snake-like shadows crept up along the
							mountain sides. Hans struggled on. The sun was sinking, but its descent
							seemed to bring no coolness; the leaden weight of the dead air pressed
							upon his brow and heart, but the goal was near. He saw the cataract of
							the Golden River springing from the hillside, scarcely five hundred feet
							above him. He paused for a moment to breathe, and sprang on to complete
							his task.</p>
						<p>At this instant a faint cry fell on his ear. He turned, and saw a
							gray-haired old man extended on the rocks. His eyes were sunk, his
							features deadly pale, and gathered into an expression of despair.
							"Water!" he stretched his arms to Hans, and cried feebly, "Water! I am
							dying."</p>
						<p>"I have none," replied Hans; "thou hast had thy share of life." He strode
							over the prostrate body, and darted on. And a flash of blue lightning
							rose out of the East, shaped like a sword; it shook <span
								epub:type="pagebreak" title="257" id="Page_257">257</span> thrice over the
							whole heaven, and left it dark with one heavy, impenetrable shade. The
							sun was setting; it plunged toward the horizon like a red-hot ball.</p>
						<p>The roar of the Golden River rose on Hans's ear. He stood at the brink of
							the chasm through which it ran. Its waves were filled with the red glory
							of the sunset; they shook their crests like tongues of fire, and flashes
							of bloody light gleamed along their foam. Their sound came mightier and
							mightier on his senses; his brain grew giddy with the prolonged thunder.
							Shuddering he drew the flask from his girdle, and hurled it into the
							center of the torrent. As he did so, an icy chill shot through his
							limbs; he staggered, shrieked, and fell. The waters closed over his cry.
							And the moaning of the river rose wildly into the night, as it gushed
							over</p>
						<div class="center"><span class="smcap">The Black Stone</span>.</div>
					</section>
					<section>
						<h5>CHAPTER IV<br /> HOW MR. SCHWARTZ SET OFF ON AN EXPEDITION TO THE GOLDEN
							RIVER, AND HOW HE PROSPERED THEREIN</h5>
						<p>Poor little Gluck waited very anxiously alone in the house for Hans's
							return. Finding he did not come back, he was terribly frightened and
							went and told Schwartz in the prison, all that had happened. Then
							Schwartz was very much pleased, and said that Hans must certainly have
							been turned into a black stone, and he should have all the gold to
							himself. But Gluck was very sorry, and cried all night. When he got up
							in the morning there was no bread in the house, nor any money; so Gluck
							went and hired himself to another goldsmith, and he worked so hard, and
							so neatly, and so long every day, that he soon got money enough together
							to pay his brother's fine, and he went and gave it all to Schwartz, and
							Schwartz got out of prison. Then Schwartz was quite pleased, and said he
							should have some of the gold of the river. But Gluck only begged he
							would go and see what had become of Hans.</p>
						<p>Now when Schwartz had heard that Hans had stolen the holy water, he
							thought to himself that such a proceeding might not be considered
							altogether correct by the King of the Golden River, and determined to
							manage matters better. So he took some more of Gluck's money, and went
							to a bad priest, who gave him some holy water very readily for it. Then
							Schwartz was sure it was all quite right. So Schwartz got up early in
							the morning before the sun rose, and took some bread and wine, in a
							basket, and put his holy water in a flask, and set off for the
							mountains. Like his brother, he was much surprised at the sight of the
							glacier, and had great difficulty in crossing it, even after leaving his
							basket behind him. The day was cloudless, but not bright; there was a
							heavy purple haze hanging over the sky, and the hills looked lowering
							and gloomy. And as Schwartz climbed the steep rock path, the thirst came
							upon him, as it had upon his brother, until he lifted his flask to his
							lips to drink. Then he saw the fair child lying near him on the rocks,
							and it cried to him, and moaned for water.</p>
						<p>"Water, indeed," said Schwartz; "I haven't half enough for myself," and
							passed on. And as he went he thought the sunbeams grew more dim, and he
							saw a low bank of black cloud rising out of the West; and, when he had
							climbed for another hour the thirst overcame him again, and he would
							have drunk. <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="258" id="Page_258">258</span> Then
							he saw the old man lying before him on the path, and heard him cry out
							for water. "Water, indeed," said Schwartz, "I haven't enough for
							myself," and on he went.</p>
						<p>Then again the light seemed to fade before his eyes, and he looked up,
							and, behold, a mist, of the color of blood, had come over the sun; and
							the bank of black cloud had risen very high, and its edges were tossing
							and tumbling like the waves of the angry sea. And they cast long
							shadows, which flickered over Schwartz's path.</p>
						<p>Then Schwartz climbed for another hour, and again his thirst returned;
							and as he lifted his flask to his lips, he thought he saw his brother
							Hans lying exhausted on the path before him, and, as he gazed, the
							figure stretched its arms to him, and cried for water. "Ha, ha," laughed
							Schwartz, "are you there? Remember the prison bars, my boy. Water,
							indeed! do you suppose I carried it all the way up here for <em>you?</em>"
							And he strode over the figure; yet, as he passed, he thought he saw a
							strange expression of mockery about its lips. And, when he had gone a
							few yards farther, he looked back; but the figure was not there.</p>
						<p>And a sudden horror came over Schwartz, he knew not why; but the thirst
							for gold prevailed over his fear, and he rushed on. And the bank of
							black cloud rose to the zenith, and out of it came bursts of spiry
							lightning, and waves of darkness seemed to heave and float between their
							flashes over the whole heavens. And the sky where the sun was setting
							was all level, and like a lake of blood; and a strong wind came out of
							that sky, tearing its crimson cloud into fragments, and scattering them
							far into the darkness. And when Schwartz stood by the brink of the
							Golden River, its waves were black, like thunder clouds, but their foam
							was like fire; and the roar of the waters below, and the thunder above,
							met, as he cast the flask into the stream. And, as he did so, the
							lightning glared into his eyes, and the earth gave way beneath him, and
							the waters closed over his cry. And the moaning of the river rose wildly
							into the night, as it gushed over the</p>
						<div class="center"><span class="smcap">Two Black Stones</span>.</div>
					</section>
					<section>
						<h5>CHAPTER V<br /> HOW LITTLE GLUCK SET OFF ON AN EXPEDITION TO THE GOLDEN
							RIVER, AND HOW HE PROSPERED THEREIN; WITH OTHER MATTERS OF INTEREST</h5>
						<p>When Gluck found that Schwartz did not come back he was very sorry, and
							did not know what to do. He had no money, and was obliged to go and hire
							himself again to the goldsmith, who worked him very hard, and gave him
							very little money. So, after a month or two, Gluck grew tired, and made
							up his mind to go and try his fortune with the Golden River. "The little
							King looked very kind," thought he. "I don't think he will turn me into
							a black stone." So he went to the priest, and the priest gave him some
							holy water as soon as he asked for it. Then Gluck took some bread in his
							basket, and the bottle of water, and set off very early for the
							mountains.</p>
						<p>If the glacier had occasioned a great deal of fatigue to his brothers, it
							was twenty times worse for him, who was neither so strong nor so
							practised on the mountains. He had several bad falls, lost his basket
							and bread, and was very much frightened at the strange noises under the
							ice. He lay a long time to rest on the grass, after he had got over, <span
								epub:type="pagebreak" title="259" id="Page_259">259</span> and began to
							climb the hill just in the hottest part of the day. When he had climbed
							for an hour, he got dreadfully thirsty, and was going to drink like his
							brothers, when he saw an old man coming down the path above him, looking
							very feeble, and leaning on a staff. "My son," said the old man, "I am
							faint with thirst. Give me some of that water." Then Gluck looked at
							him, and when he saw that he was pale and weary, he gave him the water;
							"Only pray don't drink it all," said Gluck. But the old man drank a
							great deal, and gave him back the bottle two-thirds empty. Then he bade
							him good speed, and Gluck went on again merrily. And the path became
							easier to his feet, and two or three blades of grass appeared upon it,
							and some grasshoppers began singing on the bank beside it; and Gluck
							thought he had never heard such merry singing.</p>
						<p>Then he went on for another hour, and the thirst increased on him so that
							he thought he should be forced to drink. But, as he raised the flask, he
							saw a little child lying panting by the road-side, and it cried out
							piteously for water. Then Gluck struggled with himself, and determined
							to bear the thirst a little longer; and he put the bottle to the child's
							lips, and it drank it all but a few drops. Then it smiled on him, and
							got up and ran down the hill; and Gluck looked after it, till it became
							as small as a little star, and then turned and began climbing again. And
							then there were all kinds of sweet flowers growing on the rocks, bright
							green moss with pale pink starry flowers, and soft belled gentians, more
							blue than the sky at its deepest, and pure white transparent lilies. And
							crimson and purple butterflies darted hither and thither, and the sky
							sent down such pure light that Gluck had never felt so happy in his
							life.</p>
						<p>Yet, when he had climbed for another hour, his thirst became intolerable
							again; and, when he looked at his bottle, he saw that there were only
							five or six drops left in it, and he could not venture to drink. And, as
							he was hanging the flask to his belt again, he saw a little dog lying on
							the rocks, gasping for breath—just as Hans had seen it on the day of his
							ascent. And Gluck stopped and looked at it, and then at the Golden
							River, not five hundred yards above him; and he thought of the dwarf's
							words, "that no one could succeed, except in his first attempt"; and he
							tried to pass the dog, but it whined piteously, and Gluck stopped again.
							"Poor beastie," said Gluck, "it'll be dead when I come down again, if I
							don't help it." Then he looked closer and closer at it, and its eye
							turned on him so mournfully that he could not stand it. "Confound the
							King and his gold, too," said Gluck; and he opened the flask, and poured
							all the water into the dog's mouth.</p>
						<p>The dog sprang up and stood on its hind legs. Its tail disappeared, its
							ears became long, longer, silky, golden; its nose became very red, its
							eyes became very twinkling; in three seconds the dog was gone, and
							before Gluck stood his old acquaintance, the King of the Golden
							River.</p>
						<p>"Thank you," said the monarch; "but don't be frightened, it's all right";
							for Gluck showed manifest symptoms of consternation at this unlooked-for
							reply to his last observation. "Why didn't you come before," continued
							the dwarf, "instead of sending me those rascally brothers of yours, for
							me to have the trouble of turning into stones? Very hard stones they
							make, too." <span epub:type="pagebreak" title="260" id="Page_260"
							/></p>
						<p>"Oh, dear me!" said Gluck, "have you really been so cruel?"</p>
						<p>"Cruel!" said the dwarf: "they poured unholy water into my stream; do you
							suppose I'm going to allow that?"</p>
						<p>"Why," said Gluck, "I am sure, sir—your Majesty, I mean,—they got the
							water out of the church font."</p>
						<p>"Very probably," replied the dwarf; "but," and his countenance grew stern
							as he spoke, "the water which has been refused to the cry of the weary
							and dying is unholy, though it had been blessed by every saint in
							heaven; and the water which is found in the vessel of mercy is holy,
							though it had been defiled with corpses."</p>
						<p>So saying, the dwarf stooped and plucked a lily that grew at his feet. On
							its white leaves there hung three drops of clear dew. And the dwarf
							shook them into the flask which Gluck held in his hand. "Cast these into
							the river," he said, "and descend on the other side of the mountains
							into the Treasure Valley, and so good speed."</p>
						<p>As he spoke, the figure of the dwarf became indistinct. The playing
							colors of his robe formed themselves into a prismatic mist of dewy
							light: he stood for an instant veiled with them as with the belt of a
							broad rainbow. The colors grew faint, the mist rose into the air; the
							monarch had evaporated.</p>
						<p>And Gluck climbed to the brink of the Golden River and its waves were as
							clear as crystal, and as brilliant as the sun. And, when he cast the
							three drops of dew into the stream, there opened where they fell, a
							small circular whirlpool, into which the waters descended with a musical
							noise.</p>
						<p>Gluck stood watching it for some time, very much disappointed, because
							not only the river was not turned into gold but its waters seemed much
							diminished in quantity. Yet he obeyed his friend the dwarf, and
							descended the other side of the mountains, towards the Treasure Valley;
							and, as he went, he thought he heard the noise of water working its way
							under the ground. And when he came in sight of the Treasure Valley,
							behold, a river, like the Golden River, was springing from a new cleft
							of the rocks above it, and was flowing in innumerable streams among the
							dry heaps of red sand.</p>
						<p>And, as Gluck gazed, fresh grass sprang beside the new streams, and
							creeping plants grew, and climbed among the moistening soil. Young
							flowers opened suddenly along the river sides, as stars leap out when
							twilight is deepening, and thickets of myrtle, and tendrils of vine,
							cast lengthening shadows over the valley as they grew. And thus the
							Treasure Valley became a garden again, and the inheritance, which had
							been lost by cruelty, was regained by love.</p>
						<p>And Gluck went and dwelt in the valley, and the poor were never driven
							from his door; so that his barns became full of corn, and his house of
							treasure. And for him, the river had, according to the dwarf's promise,
							become a River of Gold.</p>
						<p>And, to this day, the inhabitants of the valley point out the place where
							the three drops of holy dew were cast into the stream, and trace the
							course of the Golden River under the ground, until it emerges in the
							Treasure Valley. And at the top of the cataract of the Golden River are
							still to be seen <span class="smcap">two black stones</span>, round
							which the waters howl mournfully every day at sunset; and these stones
							are still called by the people of the valley</p>
						<div class="center"><span class="smcap">The Black
							Brothers</span>.</div>
					</section>
				</section>
			</section>
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